The Clip Show
by Te
March 23, 2007
Disclaimers: No one and nothing here is mine.
Spoilers/Timeline: Various references to toonverse events
spanning years of their time. Meant to take place
sometime after the JL episode "Starcrossed," which puts
Tim somewhere around seventeen and Babs... older.
Summary: It's everything they never have to say.
Ratings Note/Warnings: Sexual content all over the place.
Some of it dovetails with the content some readers may find
to be disturbing.
Author's Note: I don't know where this one came from,
save that I may still be high on Samoas. A little more at the
end.
Acknowledgments: Much, much love to Betty, Katarik,
Mildred, Jack, and Petra -- all of whom helped me make this
story work as much as it does.
*
Babs had mostly gotten over feeling like a thief in a museum
when she was moving through the manor (without Bruce) on
her own well before she even knew who Tim Drake was, but
there are still times when everything feels a little surreal.
It'll be months before all the windows have any sunlight to
pick up at this time of day again, Bruce is still putting out
fires at WE, and Alfred's on a date with Leslie.
Timmy -- and she'll stop calling him that several years after
he stops making that adorable *face* when he hears her do
it -- doesn't really believe in putting lights on for anything
short of -- anything.
Babs doesn't lose *every* game of Hide and Seek they play
in the manor, but the little freak has better night vision than
anyone technically human has *any* right to, and -- yeah.
Thief in a museum.
Thief in the wrong *part* of a museum -- dun dun dun! -- if
she lets all the grim little portraits get to her -- which she is
*not* --
It probably says something she doesn't especially want to
hear about herself that the Cave is less creepy than the
manor when she's all by her lonesome, but there you go.
Up ahead, lights are flashing weirdly -- hunh.
Babs comes in low for the rest of her approach. She doesn't
exactly have her belt on under this *robe* -- she'd gotten
way too disgusting training to wait to shower until she was
up *here* -- but, well, the candlestick in her left hand will
make an excellent weapon until she can find something else.
(Plus it's ugly.)
Whatever freaky thing -- or person, it could be a person,
and never mind the fact that now *every* member of the
less-than-security-minded-as-far-as-she's-concerned League
knows where the Bats come home to roost, and also what
was Bruce *thinking*?
Anyway, Babs is prepared if not for *anything*, than
definitely for most things. She's as trained as she can be --
at least until she gets Bruce to teach her more of the nastier
things he's picked up over the years, or gives her as much
training with explosives as Timmy was, apparently, *born*
with --
Timmy.
The little bastard is sitting there, in the dark, playing on his
GameStation with the *sound* muted.
He's *exactly* enough into it that she could probably get at
least a glancing blow off his *head* --
Babs runs lightly, tumbles, and jabs him in the kidneys,
instead --
"Ah -- *crap*, you made me lose a *life* --"
"You *deserve* it," Babs says, tumbling to a stop and a
sitting position. And whapping the candlestick on her palm.
"You had that muted on purpose!"
"I was just trying to be *polite*," Tim says.
Babs waits.
Tim bites his lip and holds up his palm-top. There's a small,
somewhat grainy image of *her* sneaking through the hall
with a candlestick in her hand. "I really thought you'd just
throw something," Tim says. And smirks.
"I still *can*, you little --"
"I just need to take this moment to say that I had no *idea*,
until tonight, that the hidden cameras would have such a
good pick-up for your cleavage in that robe --"
There is, actually, way too little percentage in grinding
Timmy's smirking little face into the carpet. For one thing,
the pile is too soft. For another, she's still just in a robe.
Tim could at least wriggle for escape more *convincingly*.
"I'm not even on your *dick*," she says, and thumps him
one more time on the back of the head.
This time, the wriggle gets Tim turned back over onto his
back -- he has no *bones*, dammit -- "The carpet was," he
says, and --
Babs kneels up enough to avoid the Hormone Wonder.
The pout is impressive. "Also, you smell like girl-soap," Tim
says, and waggles his eyebrows --
The pout had *been * impressive. Babs pokes him with the
candlestick. Once, on the sternum, in the entertainment
room. Which, well.
It's really more *Timmy's* room than anything else, these
days. Babs frowns.
Tim pauses mid-attempt-to-arch-their-groins-into-contact.
"Babs?"
Babs pushes him back down and sighs. "This place is too
*quiet*."
"I could put the sound on. But it's techno."
And --
It's not that Babs doesn't like rolling around with Timmy a
lot, it's just that it's all so *contained*. Timmy has to be in
the *mood* -- or be plotting something -- to take up all the
space Dick used to just by being awake.
Just -- *this* room, and not the halls, and not the kitchen --
until he gets hungry enough -- and then if he doesn't realize
anyone else is around to watch...
Babs frowns down at him.
"What is it?"
Babs grabs the candlestick again and taps him -- lightly -- on
the forehead. "I miss Dick."
"Kara's going to be sad to hear that. Unless there's
something about female Kryptonian biology that I haven't
been able to pick up via surveillance."
"No, I mean --"
"I know what you mean," Tim says, bracing himself on his
elbows and using the leverage to scoot his body out from
between Babs' legs. "But why don't you tell me?"
Scooting out from the Promised Land *and* looking for girl-
talk? Babs *looks* at Tim.
Tim looks back at her.
"I can throw you pretty far, so that's a bad metaphor right
from the start, but I still don't trust you."
Tim cocks his head and smiles. "You dated him for *years*.
Because Bruce is sometimes even a bigger freak than we
*know* he is, I have yet to find any evidence that there's
more than just a little of you guys training together on film."
Hunh. "Dick always acted like Bruce was *glued* to him.
Like, twenty-four hours a *day*."
"The terrifying thing is that we can now be -- relatively --
sure that he wasn't. My prurient interest is piqued. *What*
was he giving you guys your privacy for?"
Okay, *that* makes sense. Babs sits back on her heels and
grins. "Well..."
*
Babs kicks her shoes further under the couch and resists
the urge to check her lipstick for the mumbledieth time in
the last half-hour. Dick said he needed to check with Bruce
to make sure he really, *really* had most of the night off,
and while Babs is pretty sure it's okay --
Her dad had left a message on her cell that it looked like
he'd be home no later than nine, tonight --
You never really knew when *something* was going to
come up.
Sadly, this is currently the case with *all* the somethings in
her life, including the one attached to the most fascinatingly
*flexible* boy she has ever -- ever -- met.
She can't really -- okay, yes, it's completely and totally weird
that she's been dating the same guy as herself that she's
been *flirting* with like mad as Batgirl --
And it's *totally* embarrassing that she hadn't even been
close to figuring it out, considering how many times both of
them had to cut out on dates at near-enough to the same
time --
And she can't believe she's *here*. Sitting on a couch she's
had her ass on a dozen times if she's had it there once,
and --
Okay, she has to see:
No, not even stomping on the floor makes it sound hollow.
Not that she thought it *would*, but --
"Uh oh -- have we been infested with the kind of bugs that
don't have any cameras while Bruce and I weren't paying
attention?"
Meep. Definitely meep. "Uh -- I -- no?"
Great, just great. Act like a high school *freshman* in front
of your and-he's-Robin-*too*-boyfriend, why don't you,
Babsy?
"I mean --"
"Glad to hear it," Dick says, and he's still standing way --
*way* -- too far over there, but the look on his face says
infinitely more about Batgirl than Babs. Which is -- well.
She can work with that.
There may be ponies galloping around and around the socks
she's wearing, but Batgirl can just tuck them right under
and a little behind her, and maybe also kind of lounge.
Batgirl might not be caught dead in this kind of sweater, but
Dick --
*Robin* --
Robin knows that if he looks *real* hard he can find Batgirl
under there. Babs pats the couch.
"Oh -- okay," Dick says, and grins, and he's just right there.
It's weird that he doesn't smell any different, except for how
it would be even weirder if he *did*, but --
He's been in the *Batcave*, talking to *Batman*, about
*Bat*-things, which -- "Are we all clear for tonight?"
The expression on Dick's face...
Well, it's Robin in completely the wrong way, like maybe he's
about to tell Batgirl that her moves are too showy, even
though *Robin* had just used a section of ceiling tile as half
a trapeze or something -- Babs pokes him. "What is it?"
"Bruce -- what he actually *said* was to keep my comm in
for a signal that he *needs* me, as if I wouldn't, as if this is
something I need to be told after almost ten *years*. I -- I
don't know," Dick says, and kind of glares at the ridiculously
huge television.
This -- is something Babs doesn't need. "Well, doesn't
Batman always remind you of important things? I mean,
they're... important," and now she feels lame *and* Dick is
glowering at her.
"Barbara..."
Ohh, she hates that 'Barbara.' She pokes him again --
She *starts* to poke him again, but Dick catches her by the
wrist. "Don't, I -- look, you know all the big stuff now, but
there's a lot you *don't* know about how Bruce and I work,
okay?"
And she'll just bet that in his thick Dick brain the question
mark at the end of the sentence was supposed to soften
things. "You're just not getting over being older -- and
more experienced -- than I am any time soon, are you?"
"I'm supposed to?"
Now that -- that's the kind of interesting thing, right there.
*That* smile is the one that kept *her* from taking things
all that far with Dick Grayson. It's just that it's the exact
same smile that got Robin one hell of a kiss -- if she does
say so herself -- on the roof of the First National. "I should
be mad at you for cheating on me," she says.
"*You* should be mad? What's that Robin guy got that I
don't, anyway?" And now Dick's rubbing Babs' wrist with his
thumb, and this isn't one of Dick's smiles (for her?) at all.
Mm. "Why don't you show me?" And she leans in --
And gets a face-full of Dick's hand.
She doesn't bite it -- much.
"Easy, easy -- from here you can hear the engine on the car
when Bruce leaves, you know?"
Are they seriously supposed to act like Bruce -- *Batman* --
is his father? And, for that matter, how come it's terrible for
Bruce to act all high and mighty and just fine for *him*?
Babs swallows back the growl, but she can't do a thing
about the way her body wants her at least a little *away*
from Dick right now.
"Babs?"
She's allowed to pout -- Dick had already ruined *three*
'let's make out' dates before this one with his -- "Okay,
you're right," she says, and twists until she's sitting on the
ass that Dick's not groping again, "there's a lot I don't
know. What *is* it with you and B -- Bruce? When I first
met you guys, you were *perfect* together."
"And we still are -- mostly -- on the street. It's just..."
"Just *what*? I could understand, a little, if he was your
Dad, but you were the one who corrected me to a little
pile of Babs-dirt about *that*."
Robin... Robin shouldn't ever look that sheepish.
It's a little better when Babs goes to kick him and he catches
her by the ankle, but it's still not *right*. She twists the
ankle out of his grip and puts on her -- and Batgirl's -- best
'I'm *waiting*,' face.
"I think maybe that's part of it? Look, I -- there was a time
when I thought the best thing I could be was just *like*
Bruce, and so I buried every little thing about *me* that
either didn't fit or I *thought* didn't fit. And just lately... I
can't stop thinking about my parents. My *real* parents.
And I realize that I'm nothing like the guy they would've
wanted me to grow up to be."
And -- okay, that's kind of... "Oh. I..."
*
"So what you're saying is that I'm missing hours of footage
of Dick bitching and moaning about Bruce being really kind
of influential?"
Timmy looks like Babs is trying to hand him a steaming bowl
of Brussels sprouts. Which... okay, she can't really blame
him.
"I mean -- I could get that just by visiting the 'haven.
There'd also be things to hit."
Babs sticks her tongue out at him.
"I'm just saying --"
"You're just pissy because he can still wipe the floor with
you."
Tim responds by bending his own legs up and swinging on
his hands. And swinging his ass at her. "And *you're* pissy
because you couldn't get him to give it up."
"I'll have you know --"
"Yes...?"
Tim has actually locked his feet behind his own head. The
fact that he can still manage to look perversely *hopeful*
with himself in that position is a fact that she's had *way*
too much time to get used to.
Babs pokes him in the -- cheek. With the candlestick. "Ooh.
A little to the left?"
"I'll have you *know*," she says, and crosses her arms over
her chest, "that there is *one* surefire solution to Dick
being way too angsty."
Tim swings into a brief flip, lands on his feet, then drops to
his knees in front of her. "I'm all ears. Bruce is shipping me
out to the 'haven next weekend to check up, you know."
"I *told* you the recoil on Alfred's shotgun was too much
for you."
"I didn't *mean* to shoot out the monitors. And I only got
three of them. And it's not *fair* --"
"Anyway, when you *do* go visit..."
"Tell me, *please*! Last time I was there he pulled out his
*photo album*."
Serves him right. *He* didn't even have to *date* Dick.
But...
*
"Anyway," Dick says, bounding off his hands and back onto
his feet, "that's what it is. Most of the time, it's still fine with
Bruce, but sometimes... sometimes it really does feel like
he's punishing me for not being ten anymore."
"But -- he's not, really. I mean, it's obvious that he really
cares about you," Babs says and tries really hard to pay
attention to Dick's mood, as opposed to all the ways Robin
has been bending and twisting and flipping through the
conversation. Damn him.
"I *know* he does, I really do, but that doesn't stop me
from wanting to punch him in the face. Especially because
he didn't even start *acting* like this until I went to
college."
He goes to Hudson and he lives in the *dorms* when he
could just commute from here -- and meanwhile, Babs is
completely sure that it hasn't even *occurred* to him that
Bruce probably *misses* him.
Jesus, *she'd* known Bruce was the kind of guy who always,
always paid attention to the people in his life before she was
sure it *was* Bruce under there.
And... well.
Part of her wants to say it. Part of her wants to say it loud
enough and seriously enough that it gets through her pretty,
dumb, pretty, dumb, hot, dumb, *hot* boyfriend's
*brain* -- it's just that he's standing there, hunched in on
himself enough that the god-awful sweater-vest is pulled
*taut* enough --
Mm.
And his pants are bunching in exactly the wrong way for him
to have the tights on under there, even though the comm's
in his ear like Bruce wanted, and --
Mm. She knows the feel -- and the lack of feel -- from the
other side. Batgirl's tucked away in her Dad's attic and, now,
down in the *Cave*.
It's just them -- all of them and both of them -- and dammit,
she's been waiting for so *long*.
"Dick..."
"I know, I know, and I probably shouldn't blame him so
much --"
"You should come back to the couch," she says, and it was
nice of Dick to give her the timing for this, really --
"I -- oh. Oh."
Especially because the thing about *tight* sweaters is that
they *do* take a bit to shimmy out of. And it's absolutely
worth it when her girls make Dick look at her like *that*.
"You -- you really don't wear that bra on patrol, do you."
Babs -- or maybe Batgirl -- snorts. And does it in a way
that... *helps* her girls bounce. "What do *you* think?"
"I think... ah."
And see, the thing about dating Robin is that it leads --
wonderfully -- to one's boyfriend *flipping* back to the
couch from across the room and landing *right* at one's
feet. "Hi," Babs says, and -- no, that's definitely Batgirl
smiling.
Specifically at Dick's *hands*, which are moving towards her
girls at *speed*, even though it doesn't look like they're
listening to his brain.
"See something you -- ooh."
*Robin* -- also has excellent aim. Granted, this bra is lacy
enough that her nipples have to be obvious to even the
dimmest of boys, but -- still. Right for the nipple. Right --
she's *had* this fantasy.
"Mm, *Robin*."
"I -- Babs?"
He's actually starting to move his hands -- and his hard,
wonderful *thumbs* -- *away*, and -- no. Batgirl gets to
growl for this, and grab *Dick's* wrists until --
"Batgirl. You..."
Until Robin is looking her right in the eye.
"You didn't want me to stop, did you...?"
And his voice... his voice isn't deep. It's never *deep*, but
it's just a little dangerous. A little *dare*-you -- her. "I could
*make* you stop," she says, and shifts her grip until she's
squeezing *just* lightly enough to avoid grinding the bones
together in Robin's wrists.
"Could you...?"
Batgirl -- Batgirl doesn't mind making little mewling noises
like that. Not when it's because Robin's *pinching*.
"'cause it doesn't look like that from where *I'm* sitting,"
Robin says, and gives her *that* (Batman) smile.
"More like -- enh -- kneeling," she says, and pulls her knees
up until she can get her feet on Dick's shoulders.
"You can get a lot of spring from this position," Robin says,
"if you know what you're doing."
And... honestly, she has no idea who Robin was dating
before her, but whoever it was surely *did* teach him a few
things about how to play with nipples.
Just -- mm. He's *using* the lace, making it scratch against
her -- oh, she fucking loves that. She *has* an even more
poorly-designed than this one bra at home just because it
fits badly enough to scratch at her *just* like this --
"Robin --"
"Yeah? Something I could do for you, Batgirl...?"
Tell her where he's been *hiding* this for the past year and
a half, maybe, but that would involve him maybe
*stopping*. She kind of rolls her feet back and forth on his
shoulders --
"You should really -- really -- tell me," he says, and his
mouth is hanging open a little.
Like maybe he's thinking really, really good thoughts --
"Don't stop, Robin -- *oh* --"
"Oh, I won't," he says. "Not *now*."
And there's actually something a little dark, a little strange in
his voice and expression.
Honestly, it's *close* to the same look he'd had on his face
when he was talking about Bruce, that little edge of
*anger*, but --
"*Oh* --"
That was *hard*. That was --
"Are you punishing me, Robin?"
And Robin -- grunts.
"Have I been a bad, *bad* Batgirl...?"
And for just a second the stretch is almost *serious* with
Robin kneeling up, pushing her knees back --
She lets her feet slip and Robin's right *there*, kissing her
hard and twisting *rhythmically* --
"Jesus -- Babs --"
She bites him --
"*Batgirl* --"
And Robin's got her tongue in his mouth, and they've done
this a thousand times in a thousand places, but not when
she could *feel* the Cave gaping open below them, pulling
them maybe like he's pulling on her nipples through the bra,
*calling* them like the way it seems like the feeling is
calling her pussy, making her wet, making her --
Yeah, she's mewling again --
And louder when Robin -- Dick --
When *Robin* lets go of her nipples *just* to reach around
her back and unhook her bra -- one stroke over the clasps
to feel how they work and *open* --
And her aureoles are sensitive enough *already* that the
lace *hurts* a little scratching against them --
And it feels like Robin is sucking the moan right out of her,
or -- maybe --
Robin's big, strong hands are on her thighs, pushing them
even further apart, and it's -- it's almost too fast. She
*hates* being this wet in her Barbara clothes. It's better to
be Batgirl for this, getting thrummed *alive* on the bike or
swallowing back a gasp when the jumpline jerks her
*shoulder* just right, or --
It'd be better to be *naked*, or at least her hands think
so -- even though they seem really invested in getting
*Robin* naked. Or --
At least out of that sweater vest.
"Batgirl," he says, and she likes it when he growls. Robin
should --
Oh, Robin should always growl for her, should always look
this flushed and a little sweaty --
And the shirt is just as awful and conservative as the
sweater vest in some ways, but she can get a grip on it, and
pull, and they're not really on the couch so much as not
quite on the *floor*, but Robin is on her, pressing her back
with his kiss and his body --
Pushing off enough to get one hand back on her *breast* --
"I know -- oh -- tell me what you *want*, BG," he says, and
*grinds* against her thigh --
That's not *good* enough. And now --
*Now* they're on the floor, and the grip Robin has on her is
just perfect for her to *use* it to roll them until she's on top,
until she can straddle his hips and -- "Oh --" She's growling
again, and if she doesn't get control of herself she'll be
*grinding* --
Except that Robin's just as good at getting her jeans open as
he was with her bra, and she doesn't *want* control,
anymore. She doesn't want anything that will make Robin
stop looking so --
Angry-confused-*hot* --
It's --
It's Robin and it's *Dick*, and it doesn't seem right to know
all the important things about him and still be learning so
much, realizing how much she *doesn't* know --
*This* isn't the sweet, distracted, pretty boy she was
dating. This is -- well, maybe she just didn't know *Robin*
all that well, either, because she has no idea why she didn't
realize that hands which could pick a lock in seconds, hands
that could catch anything, twist -- oh --
"Is this what you wanted? My hand?"
"F-fuck -- *fuck*, Robin --"
"*Language*," he says, and she --
Her eyes fly open, and she didn't realize they were closed,
and she -- for just a moment --
She has to *stare* at him, and touch his face with the
hands he's making *shake*, because, for just a moment --
"*Batgirl*," he says, he *growls*, and now it is a little
deep -- and for just *another* moment --
She -- he --
Batman, she thinks, and bites her lip *hard*, and the fact
that Robin -- that *Dick* is still touching her, still *working*
her until she's shaking all over and pumping her hips, and
she doesn't --
She doesn't know where this is *coming* from, but she --
She can't --
"*Robin*," she screams, and only realizes she's been
twisting her *own* nipples when she has to let go to
*catch* herself.
And then...
He's right there. Dick's right there, staring up at her and
he --
He almost looks *scared*, or -- confused again, or more
confused, and -- strange and --
Basically *everything* other than the expressions Babs had
always assumed (and fantasized) would be on his face after
making her come her brains out. "Dick...?"
"You... I... are you okay?"
"Yes, I -- hey --"
He sits up, and pushes her back until she's sitting on her
heels, which would be fine, if he wasn't also moving away
and -- hey, wet spot.
Babs reaches for him --
And gets *both* her wrists caught.
"Dick, what is it? That was --"
"Hey, I -- hey. I just. Uh. I think you can tell that that was --
great for me, too, right?"
And the expression on his face is *almost* the one which
caught her eye the first time. Sheepish, yes, but also kind
of rueful, kind of -- *stuck*. On her. Except that there's
more to it, and she isn't really sure if that 'more' has
anything to do with the fact that she'd made him come in
his pants.
"I mean..."
And she means to frown, and ask -- something. Anything,
really, but Dick is kissing her again, and letting her wrists
go just to pull her *in*, and his shirt is cool and kind of
*crisp*-feeling against her nipples, and --
She can absolutely go with that.
*
"So that was *that*," Babs says, and bites her tongue a little
as she works at using her toes to separate Tim's hand from
his own crotch. It's not going to work, but dexterity exercises
are always important. You never know when you're going to
get tied up by some supervillain.
"So what you're saying is --"
"No fair squeezing. You weren't squeezing *before*."
Tim squeezes himself *hard*, and -- well, *hard*.
"Hunh."
"Y-yeah, Babs?"
Timmy's got his head thrown back against the couch, and
he's not really squeezing anymore, but it looks like -- well, it
looks like it would be a different kind of painful to move his
hand, right about now.
"Is there something -- wait," he says --
"Oh, don't do it --"
"Is there something I can *do* for you," Tim says,
exaggerating the *hell* out of --
"He wasn't using the *Nightwing* voice," she says, and
slaps him a little with the top of her foot.
"Heh. So it *was* the Bat-voice?"
It -- he. Oh. He -- *Oh*.
The thing about Timmy's laugh is that you can never really
tell if he's snickering or giggling or *both*. It's actually
pretty creepy, which is a good enough reason to slap him
harder.
"I was -- it was *new*. I didn't --"
"And you just never really thought about *why* -- oh, man,"
Timmy says, and gives himself another squeeze --
*That*, she thinks, and brings her foot down not *too* hard
on top of his hand --
"Yow --"
"Oh, quiet, it wasn't as hard as you were *squeezing*, and
anyway that's what I wanted to ask about," she says.
"I -- ah -- I would totally be happy to talk to you about my
masturbation habits," Tim says, and the smile would be
aimed at the ceiling if his eyes weren't closed again. "Do
you think *Dick* was thinking of Bruce?"
Feh. Just -- feh. "He was *always* thinking about Bruce
when we were dating. It wouldn't be any worse for him to
be thinking about Bruce while we were making *out* --"
"Or fucking --"
"We never got that far," Babs says, and lets her mouth twist
the way she wants it to. "Even after all of *that*, I barely
managed to convince him to let me jerk him off. Which...
okay. It would *maybe* be explained if he was thinking
about Bruce the whole time, I guess."
"Oh, it *so* wouldn't," Tim says, and laughs again when
Babs grinds down with her foot -- *less* lightly.
And moans. "Okay, look, how is that not too painful? I can't
imagine squeezing my *clit* as hard --"
"*I* can -- okay, okay, I'll stop. Kinda."
"Then *talk*," Babs says, and -- probably belatedly --
reminds herself that she's only wearing a robe. She
straightens it.
Tim makes pouty-face at her.
"No talk-y, no boobie," Babs says. And probably she should
hold out for a lot more than just *talk* --
"Just about every normal human guy in the world --
including Dick -- has been spanking it on a pretty regular
basis since the idea first -- heh -- popped up. The skin is a
lot less sensitive, especially since we don't have any soft,
meaty, delicious lips to... mm. Protect things. Just -- think
of it that way."
It's never *just* talk with Timmy. God, she loves him, she
thinks, and lets the top of the robe gap again.
One of the nicer things about Tim is that there's something
about teasing -- *sexual* teasing -- which makes him settle
down so much in his skin... he's always Robin when she's
showing a little skin. Always happy, together, and --
*happy*.
Even if he doesn't take up nearly enough space with his kind
of happy. "Keep going," she says.
"I -- don't think there's much more, ooh nipple. Okay,
more -- as you know, unlike either Dick *or* Bruce, I'm cut,
so there goes even more sensitivity right there --"
"It does make you look... neater."
Tim grins at her, sly and sideways. "Just what I always
wanted. Don't make me go find a sweater vest."
Babs makes a face, Tim -- Timmy laughs, and pops open his
fly.
"Anyway," he says, "there's also personal preference. Lots
of guys only get down to the squeezing when they're really
close. There's even a few guys at my school who are so
sensitive that they can kill -- or almost kill -- a hard-on
when they squeeze." Tim shrugs. "I bet you know a lot of
girls who do things you wouldn't, or couldn't, when it comes
to getting off."
"I bet I *do*, but Kara's the only one who talks about it. I --
hunh. We actually talk about sex a *lot*, now that I think
about it."
"And you *wonder* why I try to bug you," Tim says, and
lifts his hips up enough to get his normal-boy chinos down
around his thighs. "So about that talking..."
"Nuh-uh," Babs says, and pats at Tim's nearer thigh with the
pads of her feet. "*Your* turn for story-time."
"Oh, *really*," Tim says, and reaches down between his legs
to --
Hm. He's shifting his balls around a little. One of the other
great things about Timmy is that if she ever asked, he'd
absolutely jerk off for her. The better thing is, of course, that
she never has to really *ask*. Babs gives him a little push
with her feet. "Pretty please? I'm *bored*."
"Well, okay," Tim says, and closes his eyes again. "See, the
thing about personal preferences -- and quirks, and
neuroses, and kinks --"
"Is that they all," Babs clears her throat. "They all come
from *somewhere*, Robin," she says, in her deepest voice.
"We have to find the source of the problem before we can
find the solution."
Tim laughs and -- squeezes himself. "Yeah, the *source*..."
*
The thing is -- after a drugged-up Batman decides to take
advantage of having you chained up in a subway car --
After that 'advantage' boiled down to you being spanked and
fucked *raw* --
*
"Wait, wait -- I wanna hear about *that* one," Babs says,
and gives Tim a little kick.
"I already *told* you about that one," he says, and, "I don't
suppose I could ever convince you to give me a foot-job?"
"Eugh. You *like* that?"
Tim shrugs. "I never tried it. I mean, it *looks* ridiculous,
but how would I really know? Also, I'm seventeen and your
feet are right *there*."
Which -- point. Still -- "You never really gave me all the
*details* -- unlike me, just now, with *all* the details."
"It's true, it's true," Tim says, and presses his palm flat
against his hard-on. And rubs. "I uh -- seriously, give me ten
minutes and *then* you can decide if you want the --
unexpurgated version of the time on the subway," he says,
and looks at her. "Okay?"
Hmph. "Tick-*tock*," Babs says, and turns herself around
so that --
Well, it's not like she didn't have a good view before, but
Tim smells a little differently now than he used to. There
used to be a kind of bitter edge under his natural scent.
Now he just smells... male. Also, she doesn't really want him
to think foot-job anymore.
Babs gets her girls settled on her forearms and bends her
knees up so she can kick a little at the air.
Tim gives her a very Timmy grin. "Anyway, *after* all of
that..."
*
After all of that, it had been just as weird with Bruce as he
knew it would be. It would've been *one* thing if Bruce had
been all Batman-gone-crazy with him, but it *hadn't*.
It had been *Bruce*, and some of the things he'd said... a
boy like *him*. Honestly. You'd think Bruce had picked him
up hustling instead of having them save each *other* from
Two-Face.
Bruce had never even *seen* him hustling.
Anyway, it had been weird, and it was kind of a good thing
that Babs was on vacation with Kara and Dick was busy
being Nightwing way on the other side of the city, because
*one* of them would pick up on it, and then Tim would bet
that 'weird' would be the best they could hope for.
And -- well, to be honest, he isn't really helping.
For one thing, he'd been sore as *hell* -- he just hadn't
been doing *much* of that kind of thing when he was on
the street, and he'd been doing even less of it since
becoming Robin. Still, he could've just *told* Bruce he was
too sore to do this stretch or that whatever, but he'd kind of
been...
Well, he'd been kind of giving Bruce *looks*.
And he can admit it to himself -- he absolutely wants Bruce
to suffer a little. The Scarecrow gas had taken away his
*fear*. It hadn't done a *thing* to the parts of his brain
which controlled language.
A boy like *what*?
Like maybe he'd been fighting crime with his *ass* for the
last few months? Getting by on his training by blowing
Alfred?
No and *no*.
He absolutely has the right to make Bruce *twist* on it.
Or --
He would have the right, if he was just the kid Bruce Wayne
had adopted, as opposed to being the kid who was also
Robin. And Batman needs --
*Gotham* needs for there to be a Batman and Robin, and
the fact that they're already good enough to be able to fake
it on the street -- nobody's good enough to fake it forever.
And, when it gets right down to it...
Well.
So Tim just waits out the soreness until it's manageable
enough for him to be able to go back to his usual routines,
and he pays *attention*. Bruce starts *almost* breathing
right again when he sees Tim stick all of his landings -- as
opposed to just most, but he's doing that thing. That
*other* thing.
That -- well, Tim *had* been planning to do something
about that, about the way Bruce was always looking at
him -- *wanting* at him --
He's not crazy and he's not -- he's *human*. Bruce wants
him, and he's known that almost from the word *go*, and
he can't really --
It's like an *itch* working out around him now, eating with
him and sleeping with him down the hall.
He'd known Bruce wanted him *without* concrete, ass-
hurting proof. Now he *has* it, and, well.
If he can *fix* things between them *and* get some, there's
just no bad. So, *today* --
Today, he finishes his second perfect routine on the uneven
bars, lets his momentum flip him down and into a jog, yanks
on Bruce's chair until Bruce is facing *him*, and straddles
his lap.
"Touch me."
Bruce is tensed so hard -- Jesus, he's just in most of his
Bruce-Wayne costume, and Tim still feels like he's straddling
armor.
"*Touch* me," he says, again, and Bruce squeezes the arms
of the chair hard enough to make them squeak in protest.
Bruce had made *him* squeak, too.
"Tim, I -- you know -- what we did --"
"You spanked me," Tim says, and he's really *not* going to
deal with Bruce stammering at him like Wesker without a
dummy. "You gave me a hand-job. You rimmed me. And
then? You *fucked* me."
Bruce is staring at Tim's *shirt*. "I... I was --"
"Drugged and horny," Tim says, and shoves his knuckle
under Bruce's jaw until Bruce is looking at *him*. "Now
you're sober. And horny."
"It doesn't matter... it doesn't matter what I want," Bruce
says, and if his voice had a temperature... Tim wants to
shiver for other reasons, so...
He's pretty sure the smile on his face is on the nasty side,
but, well. "No, it doesn't."
"Tim --"
"It matters what *I* want," and that -- yeah. Bruce is paying
*attention* now. To something outside his own guilty,
fucked-up brain, if not quite --
Bruce kisses like a *punch*. Hard, out of nowhere, and Tim
isn't quite seeing stars, but he probably would've been if
he'd gotten his eyes closed. As it is, the only thing that kept
him from falling off Bruce's lap is the same thing that's *still*
keeping him upright -- Bruce has his *arm* there, just --
Fast and, yeah, not out of nowhere at all. Tim *knew* --
And now Bruce has his other hand on Tim's face, and the
kiss just keeps going --
Which is polite, because it gives Tim time to kiss *back*.
And once he does, the kiss gets even *harder* -- it would
be forcing Tim's head back if Bruce wasn't holding him, and
it's deeper, too, wetter for --
Not long enough at *all* before Bruce pulls back and
*stares* at him. Bleak, yeah, but not hungry. *Starving*.
"Tim. Tim. Please don't... please don't test my."
And Bruce *swallows*. Tim wants --
*His* hands are free, and touching Bruce's throat feels
like... like teasing something huge, or -- maybe fucking with
a NASA computer or something. He doesn't know. There's
enough tension in Bruce's throat to *snap* something, and
Tim is --
Bruce has already proven that Tim's -- kinda perfectly
snappable.
"Tim."
Still. "You don't have any control. Not anymore, right?"
"*Tim*."
It's only a word because he knows what his name *sounds*
like when Bruce -- when Bruce is growling at him. For him.
That's -- it's beyond close enough. It's kind of too *far*,
but too far is --
Too far is making Tim's heart beat too fast. There's no
Scarecrow here. There's no *mission* here, even though
they're in the Cave (where they belong). There's nothing
but Bruce, and Tim, and -- this thing which is making
Bruce --
It's making Tim's *hips* move. And it's only a little -- but
Bruce tightens his hold.
"Is this. Do you want this from me."
It's not a question. It's -- well, it's a formality. Because Bruce
is polite. Because Bruce is *afraid* to be impolite. Afraid of
what Tim will do --
Or not do. Tim bites the inside of his cheek a little -- a part
of him just wants them to keep waiting, to let them just
*stay* here, like this, until Bruce just fucking takes --
something.
Maybe responsibility. "Fuck me again, Bruce. *Use* me. Like
you want to."
And for a moment, Bruce just -- stares at him. Into him.
Looking for --
"What are you looking for, Bruce? *Who* are you looking
for?"
Bruce *groans* and he -- there's something in Tim that gets
tight for that, seizes up and hurts *with* it, and he can't --
he *can't*.
"You can do anything with a boy like --"
He doesn't get to finish it, but that's okay, considering the
fact that Bruce is yanking him into another kiss. It's not as
deep this time. It's --
Bruce is biting at Tim's lips, sucking and licking them --
"Tim. Where."
And he's all set to wait until the rest of that question shows
*up*, but --
"*Where*."
Ah. *Location*. He's mostly thinking 'anywhere not in yelling
distance of a half-dead supervillain,' but... "If I turn around,
can we do it here? *Right* --" Bruce lifts him and *spins*
him, and Tim grunts from the shock and *fights*,
reflexively --
"*No*."
"Ooh. Are you gonna freak if I call you 'Daddy?'"
"Yes. But I won't --" And Bruce lifts him up again for long
enough to yank down Tim's workout shorts and jock.
"Stop."
"Oh... oh yeah, *Bruce* --"
Bruce breathes against the back of his neck, *licks* his
neck --
"Oh fuck --"
"Watch your *mouth* --"
"*Fuck* my mouth."
And Bruce bites the back of Tim's neck, bites him again and
then scrapes with his teeth -- and then grabs Tim's dick
and squeezes, *hard*, before shoving two fingers of his
other hand into Tim's mouth. "Suck."
*
"I... wow," and Babs wants to have something to say after
that, but... wow.
"Uh, huh. Just --" And he takes his hand off his dick -- he
looks that kind of hard --
That kind of hard where it's always a little difficult to deal
with, because Babs can't be sure whether it would hurt
more to touch or *not* touch.
"Like... like this," Tim says, and puts three of his slick-shiny-
looking fingers into his mouth -- and then shoves them in
*deep*.
"Oh... just... that deep?"
And she can *see* him swallowing, Adam's apple
bobbing --
"More. You -- really need to give me more. Now."
Tim's response is to start fucking his mouth with his fingers,
so --
The only rational -- the only *possible* response is to grab
Timmy's thin-as-hers wrist in one hand and his dick in the
other. He *feels* the way he always does, as neat in her
hand as he looks, pre-come and all.
And the sound he makes around his fingers...
"More, or I *won't*."
"Ah -- Jesus, I," Tim says, and licks his lips, letting Babs
twine her fingers between his spit-slippery ones. "Okay, so
there I am on his lap, facing away from him, staring at -- I
don't even know. Maybe the pommel horse. Sucking his
fingers..."
*
Sucking Bruce's fingers --
It's like being hit on the head with something -- How had he
gone this long without sucking Bruce off? How had he gone
this long without realizing he *hadn't* sucked him off on
that train?
Bruce --
Calluses scraping his tongue and calluses scraping his
*dick*, and Tim has just about as much chance as keeping
*himself* from trying to fuck Bruce's fist as he has of
keeping himself from sucking those fingers, licking them --
not enough *salt* --
He just wants them *in* him again.
"You... you like it... *this* way," Bruce says, and that
actually *is* a question.
Sort of. Save for the fact that he can't *answer* with Bruce's
fingers in his mouth, so he just bucks his hips a little more
and yells around Bruce's fingers when he squeezes hard.
*Bruce*, he can't say, and *wants* to.
"You can't let me hurt you. Again. You *mustn't* let me..."
Tim reaches up and grabs Bruce's wrist, pulling *hard* until
Bruce finally pulls *out*. "You -- you know my limits,
Bruce."
"I --"
"You know my *limits*," Tim says, again, and if he has to,
he'll tattoo it on his own ass. "And -- if you spank me again,
I wanna be on your *lap*."
Which, he thinks, is good *enough*, even though Bruce lets
go of his dick, because he's *holding* Tim's dick against his
abdomen with the hard, *hard* heel of his hand and
playing with Tim's balls --
*Squeezing* his balls --
"Bruce... *Bruce*." Tim thrusts his hips forward as much as
he can --
"*Yes*," Bruce says, and *strokes* Tim's hole before
pushing -- not shoving -- *in*. It's two, it's --
It's two, and it's just his sweat and spit, but still -- "Come
on -- come *on* --"
"Tim. Tim, please, let me..."
He wants to be gentle. He wants --
Bruce wants to make his *own* point, but -- it's really not
his *turn*, for one thing, and for another -- "Just... oh fuck,
I don't wanna come until you're all the way *in*. At least
your fingers, please, *please* --"
*In*, and Bruce is panting again, quiet enough that it's hard
to hear under the noises *he's* making.
"Fuck, *Bruce*, oh fuck oh *fuck* --"
"Am I -- does it *hurt*."
Tim throws his head back and *moans*, and Bruce is still
trying to make a *point*, but --
Tim needs to come *now*. If he'd just been *thinking*
about this and jerking himself off, he already would've -- the
few spots inside him that were still sore are *screaming*,
but he --
And every time he bucks his hips he can feel himself
*stretching* around Bruce, feel himself *opening* --
"Answer me --"
"Of *course* it hurts, I'm --"
Bruce pulls *out*.
Sore, but not that fucking *sore* *anymore*. "God
*dammit* --"
And *shoves* back in, and Tim screams and comes so hard
his vision whites out.
And he has just enough time to stop yelling and start
panting before Bruce crooks his fingers.
"Right here."
Yes. Yes. Yes --
"In my *chair*."
"Bruce -- you -- was that a *question*?" He -- there's
something almost disturbing about doing it this way,
something about the way he can -- has to -- grab his own
knees -- yes, Bruce's *chair*. "Bruce -- oh fuck it's
*good* --"
And Bruce crooks again and starts to thrust like *that*.
"You have no idea... what I want to do to you."
To be fair, it's true that Tim doesn't know what does and
doesn't fall on the right side of the fear wall. That's -- in
part -- what this is *for*, he thinks, letting his head fall
back against Bruce's shoulder and arching his neck. "Do it.
Do *everything*. I'll be your --"
"*Don't* --"
Like that, right there -- it's an answer. Tim pants, and grins.
"Then don't let me *talk*."
Bruce's hand is on his throat *just* that fast. "You like it
when I... forbid you things."
Well, it's a nice *change*... Tim licks his lips and rolls his
*hips*. "Bruce. I'll be your --"
The gurgling noise he makes doesn't seem all that sexy to
*him*, but Bruce rocks against his ass and starts fucking
him in earnest, fast and rough and -- fuck, *friction*.
Lube, he'd say, if he could talk. He can't breathe.
The best he can manage is little whining sounds that sound
like they're coming from his *nose*, and his heart is
*pounding*.
His heart -- his *vision*. He -- he can feel the muscles in
Bruce's forearm working, feel the hair and the scars --
He *knows* he can hold his breath for longer than this, but
he can't --
He can't --
"Blow a kiss. When you need air," Bruce says, and -- it
sounds like he's smiling and it *feels* like he's rolling his
fingers inside Tim's ass, like --
Like a fucking *wave* --
"You're beautiful."
Little bird --
"You make me... hn," and Bruce jabs him like a *nerve*-
strike.
Bruce -- is really failing on that whole responsibility thing,
but --
Tim would need a lot more oxygen to *care*. But he can't
really concentrate on that, and not even on his ass -- not
anymore. It's all just feeling, waves of it, blanking out to
terrifying *nothing* and coming back so hard --
His dick feels *wet*, and his cheek -- his --
He's crying with it --
-- can't --
"Tim."
The next rush of nothing lasts so long -- takes a moment for
him to realize he *hasn't* already come again -- it --
"*Tim*."
He blows a -- a fucking *kiss* and gasps before he realizes
Bruce has let go, gasps and there's so much he wants to
*say*, so much --
"Again?"
"Yes -- *yes* --"
No time to gasp again before Bruce *has* him, choking him
and fucking him --
*No*, he can't say when Bruce pulls out again, and it
doesn't matter that Bruce is just moving him, that he can
*hear* Bruce opening his suit. He still wants to say it and
he can't, he --
Down again, sprawled further down Bruce's lap, big hard
knees digging into the backs of Tim's thighs, and the only
reason he isn't on the floor is that Bruce has him by the
throat.
Wet sounds, wet -- lube, thank fucking --
He opens his mouth on a scream which isn't even a fucking
*breath* and -- *twitches*. Bruce is *inside* him --
Can't fight. Can't breathe.
Can't scream can't *fight* --
Bruce thrusts, Bruce gets his other hand on Tim's hip and
*pulls* -- Bruce --
Bruce's calluses scratching Tim's throat, marking and
holding -- keeping --
He can't, he --
"You feel... oh, Tim --"
Noises, little noises, no -- what -- Tim doesn't know --
"So -- so *dangerous* -- "
-- rush --
Bruce's pants, little -- little *growls* --
-- *deep*, he's -- oh Bruce is *in* him again, and there's no
one to see, no one to --
Release --
He *means* to call Bruce's name, his real name, but it
comes out a moaning *yell* -- and then Bruce's hand is right
there again, making him quiet, making --
Holding him again, holding -- oh fuck so *hard*, and he
can't catch the rhythm, and it just makes every *other*
thrust so hard he can't *think*
Can't -- can't *stop* --
Release -- *air*.
"Buh -- Bruce -- *Batman* --"
Not again. He was going to tell him not to do it again, and
suddenly he's scared, and that's the funniest thing *ever*,
but.
He can't laugh.
Batman hauls Tim back against himself easily, like he
doesn't even have to think about it, and the chair --
creaking --
Tongue on his neck, everywhere Bruce's fingers *aren't* --
Every thrust -- every -- oh Batman --
So --
So --
The next release makes him shoot, makes him clench and
tense --
Coming doesn't even *matter*, and Tim brings his own
hands to his throat --
Tim *tries* to bring his hands to his throat, but Batman
catches them, yanks them up over his head just like -- oh,
just like --
"*Bruce* --"
"Yes..."
And the next thrust is *brutal*, and the one after that, and
the one after *that*, and being able to breathe just means
he can scream, means he can *shake* and *know* he's
shaking, because Bruce hadn't tied him like that for
*convenience*.
Bruce *likes* it like this. *Bruce* does.
And it seems kind of silly that his eyes are rolling back in his
head *now*, but it's also just... Bruce.
Tim closes his eyes, and lets his mouth fall open, and lets
Bruce fuck every noise out of him he wants.
Whether Bruce wants them or *not*.
Bruce's hand tightening around his wrists is a *warning*,
but it's just that Bruce is *stopping*, Bruce is -- fuck.
*Coming* in him. And shivering.
Just a little -- but they're close enough that Tim can feel it
all through him. He can feel --
It's like *Bruce* is all through him, and all around him, and
just -- everywhere.
Everything.
Batman. Heh.
Tim waits for Bruce to let go of his wrists, and stretches
and -- okay, yeah, that's still another fucking squeak when
Bruce shifts inside him, but this time it just makes Bruce
squeeze his hip, so that's fine.
"Bruce."
"Hmm."
"You *can* just tie me up."
He can feel Bruce stop breathing, too.
*
"He -- oh he just seized up, Babs, he -- oh fuck please
*suck* me --"
She's been dragging this out for a while, maybe for too long
for Babs-and-Timmy, but --
Batgirl and Robin are *different*, and sometimes Babs
thinks she's been waiting for the feel of Robin's hands in
her hair *forever*. Really, the only thing which could make
it better would be for Batman to be right there, watching
like he should always watch.
*Knowing*.
Batman --
She can't. She can't tease Timmy anymore -- he's been as
good as anyone *could* be --
"Please, Batgirl, please -- please just --"
And she can't tease herself anymore, either. Tim's bigger
than he used to be, of course, but it's still not that hard to
swallow him right down, and --
Sometimes, she thinks she should maybe be a little
disturbed by being able to measure Tim's growth with her
*tongue*, but --
Well.
Robin doesn't change, not really.
"Oh -- oh -- oh *fuck*, BG, let me come in your mouth I'll
be your best friend --"
Certainly he *shouldn't*, Babs thinks, and reaches up a little
to scratch at one of Tim's nipples with her nails --
"Fuck, fuck, *yes* --"
And then it's only a matter of swallowing, and then sucking
and licking until Tim starts making the kind of noises that...
Well, Bruce has probably been getting them out of him for
a *while*. Babs pulls off, wipes her mouth with the back of
her hand, and *looks* at Tim.
And waits for Tim to stop grinning at nothing and look back.
"Yes, Babs?"
"You -- this really didn't free you from your *responsibility*
to tell me the other story."
Tim sticks his tongue out.
"I've never gotten to *see* Bruce spanking you --"
"I have to beg like crazy to get him to do it, you know --"
"-- so I should at least be able to *hear* about it," and Babs
crosses her arms over her chest.
Tim tugs lightly at the belt of Babs' robe. "It totally doesn't
matter to you at *all* that it was pretty traumatic for me,
does it?"
If it was all *that* traumatic, he wouldn't have gone back
for more. Or -- well. He probably would've gone back for
more *differently*. Probably.
Tim's laugh this time -- it's definitely a snicker. "I knew it.
You just want to hear about me *suffering* --"
"By coming really hard and also a lot. Yeah, I'm a torture
*junkie*," Babs says, and -- well.
Another one of the nice things about being Batgirl to this
Robin, about just being herself to Timmy, is that they don't
really have to bother with the awkward parts. They both
know that Tim's tugs on Babs' belt are starting to get more
purposeful, and they both know that Babs wouldn't be
letting it *happen* if it wasn't...
Well, not just okay. Okay for *them*. Because they're
friends -- more than, in ways that don't have anything to do
with all the hormones Timmy produces in his little factory of
a body and pollutes the rest of the *universe* with --
It's okay with him, now -- he *knows* what a pervert he is,
and he's... well, he's kind of...
It's hard to say. It's not the same as it was when he first got
here, but it's still *easy* the way it just can't ever be with
the people who actually get to have a say in how she lives
her life...
It seems funny that, these days, it's really only Bruce who
does -- and only in limited ways. Of course, she'd prefer it
if her father was happy, but she's known since she was a
teenager that she'd never be the woman he *really*
wanted her to be.
"Babs...?"
Timmy's kind of an whine-sniffing dog. She kisses his nose,
and covers the hand that still has her belt and gives it a
squeeze.
"So I was going to talk about talking," she says, and
deliberately leans back far enough that the belt starts to
slip its loose knot solely by Tim keeping his hand where it is.
"Sex talking. With Kara. Who is -- mm."
"Yeah. And yes," Babs says. "But -- you know, I can't talk to
her about *everything*."
"I -- hunh. Does she not know who we all are? I mean --
how powerful is she?"
Babs squints. "A lot...? I mean, she could tell I was a natural
redhead, but she can't hear us unless she's somewhere
within a couple of hundred miles. I think. Kara, come here!"
They wait.
Timmy, agreeably, plays a game of catch with himself and
the end of the belt.
"I already know she's got *about* a third of Clark's speed --
Clark says that's one of the first things he picked up."
Hm. Babs pokes Tim's navel lightly. "He's not going to be
jealous that we're calling Kara and not him, is he?"
Tim grins. "I always say you should spend more time with
him, get to know him better. A lot of the time, he really is
happy just to watch -- and he already knows that he has
blanket permission to watch *me*."
Which is fair, but -- wait. "Does that mean he knows I just
sucked you off?"
Tim shrugs. "Assuming he wasn't busy. I mean, he respects
your privacy and all -- so long as it doesn't get in the way of
*my* privacy."
On Dick, that's a grin which needs a punch. On Timmy -- it
just kind of is. "So, *every* time --"
"Uh, huh. Well, again -- he's a busy guy."
But -- damn. That kind of... she'd had a whole *set* story...
"You know, when you frown like that I just want to watch
Bruce bend you over something," Tim says, and it *is*
pretty much exactly the same tone someone else would
use to say something like, 'when you frown like that, I just
want to pinch your cheeks.'
"Don't you *always* want to watch Bruce bend me over
something?"
Tim makes a little show of thinking about it.
And really, she knows what's coming. But it's fun to wait --
"Sometimes I want to watch Bruce hang you from
something by the wrists, then use the momentum of your
swings to fuck you."
-- just the same. "But only sometimes, right?"
"Well," Tim says, and doesn't tug *quite* hard enough to
loosen the belt any more than it already is, "it's not an
everyday kind of image. And I think Kara's time is up."
Babs nods. "Oh, well. Anyway -- if Clark knows about
everything -- or nearly everything -- you do, does that mean
he tells you everything *he* does?"
"Clark's kind of..." Tim makes a face.
Interesting. "Clark's kind of *what*?"
"He -- he's really *liberal*. And really -- *really* -- not
above using sex as a method of communication."
Babs jabs him until he starts defending himself, then starts
jabbing *hard*.
"Hey --"
"You do that all the *time*. I've *seen* you pinch off just
enough to come in Morse code, you --"
"Okay, okay!"
Babs grabs her belt warningly.
"Okay, no, I was serious -- he uses it -- he'll have sex with
*anything* that seems like it might be sentient. Just in
*case*."
Oh. *Oh*. "Wait, doesn't he have --"
"A bunch of random aliens from unknown/destroyed planets
just kinda *there* in his Fortress? Yes, yes he *does*,"
Tim says. "And, okay, some of them are pretty cool, it's true,
but -- I still make him irradiate himself if it's been more than
a few weeks since I've seen him. One day he's going to get
an STD that conquers the *planet*."
"I -- ew."
"This is what I'm saying," Tim says, and tickles at Babs' fist
until she gives him back the belt. "Clark is a really good
friend who proves that by *not* telling me everything."
Which is -- okay, she can understand, but -- still. "Ew. I
really wish I'd known that before... well."
"Before...?"
"Well, there was *one* conversation in particular I was
thinking of when you brought up Kara and me..."
*
It's not that Kara had never made Babs feel like a dirty old
woman before, it's just that there was a big difference
between making out with the super-powered teenager who
could hold you in the sky with one hand, and making out
with that teenager on her bed, in Kansas, and accidentally
rolling over on top of a stuffed mouse.
Which squeaked.
This is totally the kind of thing that makes Bruce *look* at
her like -- well, like the way he looks at her when he's not
looking at her in any of the fun ways.
It's not like he has any room to *talk*, and --
And it's not that she's getting *off* on the taste of chewing
gum in Kara's mouth. It's just -- pleasant. Sweet.
Minty.
"Oh, Babs, I'm so glad you could come visit for a few days!"
The hug isn't hard enough to crush anything important --
and the lift and spin that came with it moved her off the
little squeaking bit of childhood innocence -- but it *is* hard
enough to squeeze the breath out of her.
She actually makes Kara's -- messy, now, and she really
looks way too good that way -- hair ruffle a little with it, and
Kara just smiles and smiles. And --
God.
She's just done way too many training exercises with Bruce
and way too little available oxygen. It's not her *fault* that
she's kind of waking up more than -- well, *more*, and --
"Mmm, *Babs* --"
It just sounds really, really good when it's mostly being
kissed into her mouth. And licked. And --
Mm.
They've done this... a fair amount. A little. A few times --
not enough.
Kara's got the top of her suit on under her baggy, nice-girl
t-shirt. She keeps the skirt, Babs knows, folded up
impossibly tight in the pocket of whatever jeans she's
wearing. Right now, it's a dense little knot digging into
Babs' abdomen, and --
Well, Kara hates it when she's uncomfortable.
"Ooh -- should I get naked now?"
Always, yes, and always. Sometimes she understands
Timmy *perfectly*, as opposed to just really well --
*
"She's really -- she's really *that* innocent?"
"Yes and no? Maybe? Sometimes? It's complicated," Babs
says, and shivers when the kind-of-cold air of the manor
finally (it feels like a finally) hits her nipples square on.
It's pretty rare, these days, when she just waits for her
nipples to tighten up, when she's waiting and not-doing
enough to just feel it happen.
Timmy is, of course, focused. He always looks much, much
older -- both older than he is and older than he *looks* --
when he's staring at her like this. "I mean, she's -- she'd
apparently fooled around with the equivalent of her
classmates back on Argo, but... God, how long has it been
since *you've* hooked up with a civilian?"
"Not long enough," Tim says, and tugs on *both* ends of
the belt until Babs knee-walks a little closer.
"Yeah, boring," Babs says, and holds her breasts right up to
eye level until Timmy licks his lips. "And it's not that she's a
*civilian*, but..."
"She's still more like one than like one of us?"
Babs nods and spreads her knees a little, and -- well, she'll
never be Dick *or* Timmy, but this is still a stretch she can
manage: she folds herself back until the back of her head is
touching the carpet, and -- mm. She spreads a little more,
too.
"You know, this may be an unpopular opinion, but I fucking
love it that you don't shave your bush."
Oh, he really does. Her girls can't seem to decide whether
they want to flop a little sideways or more towards her face.
She keeps forgetting that she wants to be in a *corset*
before she gets in this position, but, well, once she relaxes
her abs and quads a little more, it's comfortable enough.
"It's like a little fox-tail," Timmy says, and tugs lightly at the
longer hairs.
"I think I'm going to freak out a little when it starts going
grey."
"I will be perfectly willing to help you *through* that," and,
"besides, I never even saw Bruce's pubes when *they*
were completely black."
Neither had she, really, but still. It *feels* different, whether
or not it should. "Anyway."
"Anyway, baby Kara wanted to know if it was time to stand
and deliver for Mommy Babs..."
Babs snorts and spreads herself a little --
"Oh, *Mommy*..."
Timmy knows what she likes. "And, of course, I stared at her
tits like a giant *lech* while she stripped off..."
*
Because Kara never uses her speed to do it, not really. It
*is* faster and more graceful than it would be for a human,
but barely enough that you'd even notice.
It's the part of Kara which absolutely knows what it's
doing -- and what Kara's doing to *Babs*.
It's the part which makes it *okay* for Babs to just get
comfortable and stare, without a word, until Kara's all
peaches and cream and bare and -- not shivering. Kara's
never cold.
It's just that sometimes she looks like she *wants* to shiver,
and those times usually coincide with when she's naked
*for* Babs.
"Babs...? So... what do you want to do?"
What she *always* wants to do. Kara's just...
There's always just this tiniest crease -- her skin's too soft
and firm and perfect for it to be a line -- on her forehead,
just a little worry, even though Babs is grinning at her.
Maybe -- probably -- it's the grin that *does* it. "You're just
so *pretty*," Babs says, and the worry's all gone like --
sunshine burning *off* the clouds. Which is a sign, if not a
cue, so Babs holds her hand up. "No, no, stay right there in
the sunshine."
"I -- oh. I'm in front of a *window*!"
In the middle of *nowhere*, with the Kents off for a week in
Hawaii, and also in the complete ass-end middle of utterly
nowhere *nowhere* -- but -- hm. "Yeah. Anyone could see
you, Kara. Just -- anyone."
"Oh, I -- I don't --"
"Don't cover yourself," Babs says, and she hadn't *meant*
to use the Batgirl voice, but it makes Kara jump, makes her
eyes get *wide*, and her hands... Her hands shake visibly,
just for an instant, before she balls them into fists and --
"I -- okay. What..."
What indeed? Babs wants -- she's never fucked Kara. At first
because it wasn't that kind of thing -- she doesn't even go
for girls all *that* much -- and then because, well, Kara.
Dirty old Babs, clean, pretty -- mm.
"I mean..." Kara bites her lip. "What do *you* want?"
If Kara's paying attention, she could look right *through*
Babs and see her pussy muscles *clenching*, just -- Jesus.
"You like it when I play with your nipples, right -- stay there.
Right there."
"Oh, I -- sorry."
She'd started to move *to* Babs, just that fast -- *Jeez*.
"Play with them like I do -- pretend I'm using my *teeth*."
Kara -- her knees buckle, just a little, but she stands up
straight again like the good girl she *is* --
"Your thighs are already wet," Babs says, once Kara's hands
are on her nipples.
"Yes, I -- yes, you're so --"
"Bend over, from the waist -- do it slowly, and don't take
your hands off your nipples."
"I -- I -- oh, Babs, I..."
Mmm. "That's right. Point your ass right *at* the window."
"Oh -- oh, please Babs, I -- I don't want to --"
"*Do* it."
And she -- she *jumps* again, and it's not -- it probably
doesn't *fit* for Babs to be flushing *and* blushing so hard
she can feel it, so hard the air feels *cold*.
*
"See, this," Timmy says, and never stops that little vibration
thing *he* probably learned from Clark (as opposed to Kara)
with his finger.
"Nn. Yeah?"
"This is why the cowl comes in handy for Bruce. I can hardly
*ever* tell just by looking when he's losing it."
"Don't -- don't stop --"
He -- slows *down*.
Dammit --
"I *love* it when you growl at me, Mommy. You were
saying?"
"I -- oh -- Jesus, your little *hands* -- *fuck* --"
One finger working on her clit and *two* inside her, just --
flexing there, curling and twisting a little --
"Oh -- *damn*, Robin --"
"So you've ordered her to just expose herself to the world..."
"Oh -- God, she -- she was wet enough that her hair was
kind of -- almost -- almost dark *brown* --"
"And it's not like you could just *make* her do what you
wanted," Tim says, and starts fluttering the fingers *inside*
her --
"Yeah -- I -- she -- I could smell her sweat. I could smell
*my* sweat..."
*
If anyone walked into Kara's bedroom even a *day* after
this, Babs was sure they'd at least be able to *sense* it. To
just -- *know* that there'd been sex here, even if they
couldn't still smell it.
Even with Kara's window wide open and full of bright,
lemony sunlight --
"Please, Babs, please don't --"
"I want you to," she says, twisting around so she's sitting on
the edge of Kara's bed instead of just lying on it. "I really --
you'll do it for me, won't you?" And that's Batgirl's purr right
down to where it *counts* --
And it makes Kara moan, open-mouthed and quiet and so
*sweet*, and her thighs shake -- shudder -- and she does
it. She.
She does it, and it must be how Bruce feels all the time,
knowing there's nothing Timmy wouldn't do if he ordered it,
nothing *she* wouldn't do. It's not -- she doesn't feel
powerful at all.
She feels weak, and hungry, and if she touches herself --
If Babs so much as flexes her *thighs* a little, she'll come,
just like that. It won't be a *good* one, but it'll *be* one.
"Babs...? I. Can I..."
"Do you know what I want to do to you?"
"Do -- do you want to fuck me?"
Just -- why *hasn't* she? "Stand up straight and come
here," and Babs spreads her legs -- carefully -- to make
room, and Kara *walks* to her.
Not slow, and not clumsy -- she could never be clumsy --
but... walks, curling her toes against the floor every couple
of small steps and shaking when her wet, wet thighs rub
together. She's beautiful, and she's shaking all over by the
time she's close enough for Babs to touch.
It would be making her breasts move more, but --
Babs never told her to stop playing with her nipples. Heh.
Batgirl Says may very well be the *best* game.
"Pinch your nipples *hard*, Kara. And hold them just like
that."
"Babs -- *Babs*," and she bites her lip and squeezes her
eyes shut, and pinches herself hard enough to make her rise
to her own toes -- beyond --
"Feet on the floor."
Down with a little *thump*, and another shiver when Babs
reaches between, strokes the wetness and gets it -- all over
her own *hand*.
"Do you want me to fuck you?"
"Yes," she says, and shudders and spreads, and, "but -- oh.
You -- you can't --"
She didn't actually *mean* to growl this time. "Kara --"
"No, I mean -- I want you to, I really -- I have a hymen."
It takes a *minute* to sink in, maybe even a full one. Babs
can hear the growl turn into something else, and then she --
"You -- *what*?"
"I -- I looked up the word. It's -- I never had sex, and -- I. I
tried really *hard* to break it, but I -- can't."
"You... um."
*
"I -- wow."
"This is -- no, I didn't actually have words in my head at
that -- ah, Timmy, you need to fuck me before your hands
get *pruney*."
"You're a great moisturizer," Tim says, and leans in to
*nuzzle* Babs' clit.
"Or -- oh -- mm -- suck *me* off -- *fuck* --"
The suck is quick and hard and brief -- not brief enough or
maybe too brief -- just long enough to make Babs feel
*that* pain, the one that turns into something else if you
just keep it up --
"Okay," Timmy says, "I've seen her pop her shoulder back
into place --"
"And -- fuck, do that *again* -- wait not right now. *I've*
seen her punch a condemned building into thousands of
throwing weapons -- punch until her knuckles were --
fucking *shredded* -- *now* do it -- *Robin* --"
That's probably 'Batgirl' being hummed around her, into her,
and if she keeps working her hips like this she's going to
lose *focus* -- and then he pulls off.
"Oh, you little *bastard*," Babs thinks very seriously about
getting into a position which will make it easier to injure
something important on the Tease Wonder, but --
"Bear with me a second here, Babs, I just -- why couldn't
she just... punch a way into the Promised Land?"
Babs rears up enough to grab Timmy by the ears and tug.
"I'll tell you. I -- look, just *lick* me."
Timmy's grin is just this side of *evil*, which is all the more
reason for his face to be doing something better than sitting
there.
"Argh, fine, look -- you are physically capable of yanking off
a big piece of your own flesh if it needs to be done. You've
*done* it. But could you -- circumcise yourself if it hadn't
already been done?"
And that expression --
Actually feels really *good* against her sex when Babs finally
*does* yank.
*
Still... she really needs to fuck Kara. She's --
She's been so *good*.
"I..." And Kara is, abruptly, on her lap and pushing Babs
down to the bed. "Please, I -- we can -- oh can we 'sixty-
nine?'"
They've done that *already*. Not that it wasn't great, but
Babs doesn't particularly...
Well, she likes Kara. Loves her a little, even, and she doesn't
taste *bad*, but, most of the time, muff-diving just isn't her
*thing*. And -- inspiration.
"What about Superman?"
Kara blinks at her. "What -- what about him?"
"He could -- ah." Crap, Superman is her *cousin*. Like, by
blood and everything, and it's possible she's crossed a line.
Like, the line *past* the line, and --
"Oh, you're *right* -- Kal! Please please please! Kal, come
home!"
And Babs doesn't even have time to wrap her mind around
the 'you're right' thing -- much less time to halfway
*suggest* Kara put some clothes on --
*She's* fully-dressed, but --
"Kara, Batgirl -- Barbara -- *Kara*, you're -- ah -- what?"
Superman. Right *there*.
Batgirl wouldn't hide under the bed, but Babs really wants
to. If she was ever going to make Superman look
*poleaxed*, she should've been in her uniform, maybe
doing some of the things Timmy talked about when she
was *just* jerking him off --
And Kara's hugging him. Bare-ass, and hugging.
"Kal, you have to *help* me. *Us*."
Superman -- Kal -- *Clark* --
Clark squeezes Kara in what looks like reflex before gently
moving her away. "Well, I, of course -- Kara, are you aware
that you're naked?"
"What? Oh. I... well, Babs and I were -- you know. But we
*can't* really, because I have a hymen."
"You -- you're a virgin?"
And it's not that Clark looks at her -- not that Babs can
*see* -- but it *feels* like he's looking. And this is the part
of the story with a *shotgun*, only Clark -- *Superman* --
really doesn't need one of those. "Um -- we were just...
well, we were talking --"
"And having sex," Kara says, bright and matter-of-fact --
somehow, her perky little breasts makes her seem even
*more* matter-of-fact -- "Only if Babs tries to penetrate me,
she'll break her *hand*, and I -- I really want her to
penetrate me."
Babs can say one thing (to herself, in the privacy of her own
mind) -- it no longer feels like Clark is *looking* at her, as
opposed to both of them. Maybe she can make it to that
window...
"Anyway, I can't make myself -- I mean, I'm tough enough
to break it myself, but the idea makes me want to tie my
legs in a *knot*, Kal."
"I... I think I can --"
"Help us?"
"*Understand*," Clark says, and it's a funny thing -- he
doesn't really stop just standing there staring, but it *looks*
like he's an inch away from fleeing. It's not that Babs can
*blame* him, really, she'd been thinking *with* her clit
when she suggested --
"Just -- it was one thing when I didn't really know anybody
on Earth to *play* with, Kal, but --"
"Kara, I -- what are you asking me?"
Oh, don't make her say it. Don't *let* her say it. Just -- "Um,
Clark," she starts, and Clark is looking at her almost
*pleadingly*, hands still *firmly* placed on Kara's very
naked shoulders, but --
She doesn't actually have the words that go after that.
"I need you to -- could you break my hymen? I mean, I
know you're my cousin, and it *is* kind of weird now that I
think about it... hm." Kara looks back at Babs over her
shoulder -- and Clark's hand.
Babs doesn't know *what* expression is on her face, but
whatever it is makes Kara *beam*.
"Oh, Babs is so much *fun*, Kal, and I want -- I want to
have *more* fun."
Clark... Clark looks kind of... Babs has to squint, a little. She's
not sure *what* that look is. Poleaxed works as a *starting*
definition, but he hasn't moved a *muscle* since Kara's little
request.
*Her* request -- Jesus.
*
"Clark -- I -- I can't even imagine him putting up a fight,"
Timmy says, mostly *against* her pussy.
It's a little muffled, but she -- she can make it out, all right.
It's not like she's going to let go of his hair anytime soon.
"I mean," he says, and licks her *hard* with the flat of his
tongue, "he was hitting on me -- he hits on people in the
middle of *missions*."
"See, you -- oh, that's -- that's just perfect --"
"Practice makes perfect..."
"You -- I'm *convinced* you just see a different guy than I
do. Or, well, than I did."
"So he *did* put out?"
"Would I be telling this story if he didn't? Don't stop
*licking*," Babs says, and gives Tim's hair a little yank to get
him back to work.
"So, how," Tim says, and dives down to lick around where
his *fingers* are still working --
"Mmm -- nuh -- *yes* --"
"How did you get him with the program?"
"I -- I had to -- well, I *had* to. She was just naked, and I
could see all the pre-come drying on her *thighs*, and she
was just --"
*
There's just something really *pretty* about it, even with
Clark being all disturbed. He's fully dressed, and she is, too,
and Kara's just naked and --
"Oh, Kal, please, I don't ask you for *anything*, really, and
it's -- well, it's not like I want you to get me pregnant."
And that's -- Babs thinks it has its own kind of innocence,
right there. On the one hand, entirely rational. On the other
hand, Clark's hands are tightening on Kara's shoulders in
*such* the wrong --
"Kara! That's -- you -- I --"
-- way. Damn.
And really, there *is* a part of her which sympathizes --
*more* than sympathizes, even though Clark -- obviously --
didn't even grow up with Kara. She *has* to help. "Clark...?"
"Yes! Babs. I mean Barbara, terribly sorry --"
"You *can* call me Babs," she says, and smiles, and stands
up slowly. Not *too* slowly. Just -- enough to get him to
pay attention to her, and the way she's moving, as opposed
to his currently-very-distracting cousin.
"I -- oh, well, thank you. I'm very glad. T-- Robin has always
spoken very highly -- yes. Thank you," he says, again, and
he's still focused on her, which is good.
It's not that she really thinks she can be *effectively*
sneaky around *Superman*, but, well, she's worked with
Kara a lot. When she rolls her shoulder like she's got a --
heh -- kink, Kara moves back from Clark for the first time
since his arrival, leaving room for *her*.
"Ah -- yes?"
"I think what Kara's trying to say is that we've been, well,
*limited*," Babs says, and makes a point of looking
*directly* into Clark's eyes.
"That's -- I -- it's not -- I do. Sympathize? But --"
"And there *are* other -- well, Kara's not as strong as you,
yet, but she's getting more powerful -- more *invulnerable*
every day."
"Yes, the sun... well, you know all of that, of course,
Barbara --"
"Babs," she says, and reaches back with one hand until Kara
takes it in her own. A tug and Kara is right there, pressed to
her back and --
It's a warm day and Kara's even warmer. Not soft, but
*curvy*, like maybe if Babs had a sore back she could just
wriggle against Kara's breasts for a while until it felt better.
She *isn't* sore, but working her shoulders back and forth
makes Kara shiver and wrap her arms around Babs' waist,
still holding one of Babs' hands --
"Babs, I -- it's really quite strictly proscribed. And not --
appropriate by --"
Kara rattles off -- something in Kryptonian. It's not really
*time* for it, but --
"Well, yes, Kara, but that story is a legend, and anyway they
were both dematerialized for their crimes --"
"Clark," Babs says, and puts her free hand -- right on the
shield.
"Yes? I'm sorry about that, but --"
"We really -- it's true that there *are* other extraordinarily
powerful people Kara *could* ask, but... Kara trusts *you*."
"You're the only family I *have*, Kal, and... I'd be really
grateful."
And that still *sounded* innocent, but only if you didn't have
a *brain* in your head, because Kara's working her breasts
back and forth against Babs' back -- through the t-shirt it
feels like two tiny and impossibly *hard* erections, and --
What *would* Timmy do?
"Clark..."
"Perhaps -- perhaps I should leave the two of you... ladies
alone? I could just --"
"We'd really," Babs says, and takes a step -- and Kara is
*right* with her -- closer. Like this, Babs' arm is kind of
*bent* between Clark's body and her own, and it's --
It's actually pretty intimidating to be *between* two of the
most powerful beings on the planet, but the shiver it brings
out of her --
"Oh -- ah. Babs. Are you quite... all right?"
-- is kind of perfect. Especially since flexing her internal
muscles makes Clark -- she *knows* this -- flare his nostrils
and lean *in* --
Just for a second, but there.
Babs leans back against Kara and drags the hand Kara's still
holding -- slowly -- up to her breasts. "Maybe... maybe you
could stay for a little while."
"It's -- would you like me to."
Oh, it's not a *question*, and Babs --
It's *exactly* the sort of behavior which makes Bruce give
her some of the *other* looks in his repertoire. The ones
that make it hard to do anything other than more of
whatever she was doing in the first place. More of the spar,
more of the stretches --
More of *this*, because she's playing with her own nipple
with the hand Kara's holding, but Kara is taking care of the
other one for her. Kara *twists*, and --
Moaning like this --
It feels loud, it feels -- obvious and too fast and --
"Oh... Babs," Clark says, and touches her face. Just -- gently,
with the tips of his fingers --
"She's so beautiful, isn't she, Clark? I just -- I think about
her all the *time*."
She's terrible, she's a cradle-robber, she's --
She's kissing *Superman*, and for a second it's too much.
She can *hear* Kara's knuckles shifting against the material
of Clark's uniform, and her nipples are sending little spikes
of *wonderful* right through her, all through her, and
Clark's kiss is gentle, but his mouth --
Oh, his mouth is so *hard* --
And then she can breathe again, if not really think, and
they -- well, they have an *agenda*, so Babs twists her
hands until she's holding Kara's, and tugs them away from
her breasts --
"Oh," Clark says, and his thumb on Babs' mouth, and
that's -- that's really, really distracting, but she can work
through it. Around it. Something.
She turns around until Clark's at her back, and kisses Kara as
much like Clark had kissed her as she can manage. If she
stiffens her jaw and holds her mouth in a certain (Bruce)
way --
Kara whimpers into her mouth, loud enough to make Babs'
teeth hum, a little, and squeezes Babs' hands --
And drops to her knees the *second* Babs tugs a little.
"Kara, you --"
"Oh, I really -- she *wants* me to taste her, I can *smell* it,
Kal. Can't you?"
"*Yes*, I --"
And Clark's hands are on *her* shoulders, and he's not
pushing so much as just -- holding her there.
"I'd like to... Babs. May I watch Kara pleasuring you?"
And Babs grins. At the wall in front of her, and then she tilts
her head back just enough to be able to see Clark a *little*
and grins at him --
The kiss, this time, is almost a little *brutal*. Still not that
hard, but *fast* and *thorough*. Clark's tasting her, holding
her --
Wind and Babs realizes that her jeans are down around her
ankles, and Kara --
"Oh -- oh --" Jesus, Kara's nuzzling her through her panties,
and this -- this is *almost* perfect. "Wait, I --"
"Babs, I don't *want* to wait --"
"Kara," Clark says, and it's -- God, he's scolding her, and
she --
Kara's *blushing*, and that's way too hot to deal with, so it's
a good thing she'd already planned to sit down. "Carry -- I
want to sit on the edge of the bed --"
She's there before she can finish saying it, and her shoes
are gone, and her jeans and panties are just --
Babs doesn't know *where* they are. Kara -- Kara is
spreading her thighs and going down, licking her fast and
all over, licking her clean and making her need to get dirty
again *fast* --
And when Babs reaches, Clark is *right* there, moving to
sit beside her --
"No, Clark, wait -- oh -- oh, Kara don't stop -- no, I -- stand
there?"
And he does, and that's just -- eye level. Eye level and
*impressive*, and it just keeps getting more so -- apparently
*because* she's staring.
Babs licks her lips -- slowly -- and looks up at Clark from
beneath her lashes. "Take... pull your tights down for me?"
And when he does --
He's not that much bigger than Bruce, really -- he may not
be bigger at all -- but there's something about him that
*seems* that way. Maybe it's the frilly little-girl bedroom
and the fact that the only things in reach of her *other*
hand are Kara's head and stuffed *animals* --
Babs sticks with Kara's head -- Kara's pretty blonde *hair* --
and reaches for Clark with the other --
"Oh, you -- would you taste me, Babs?"
So -- so *polite*. 'Barbara' would actually sound *better* --
But the sound he makes when Babs wraps her hand around
the base of his dick isn't polite at *all*. And after that --
Well, really, Babs was just going to focus on getting him as
hard as she could, getting him wet and -- *wet*, but he
tastes --
He tastes like Kara and he tastes like *male*, and Babs
doesn't really have the words for either of them. It's just --
air and sun and *good*, wholesome and healthy as Kansas,
powerful as -- *anything*, and the feel of him sliding in to
her mouth --
*Stretching* her mouth --
Oh -- *Bruce*, but it's not, it's --
And Kara is sucking on her clit and moaning, or --
Clark's moaning and stroking her *hair*, and --
And --
Babs can't help it. Clark's just so -- so -- and in her mouth,
and it feels *necessary* to just bob up and down a little,
and she thinks --
She feels spit running down her chin, and she can't even
imagine what this *looks* like.
If she were in a better position, she could probably swallow --
oh, she wants to swallow, and it's -- it's *incredible* to feel
Clark's hand tighten on her head when she starts to pull
back --
"Oh, I -- I'm so sorry --"
Babs takes a deep breath and works her jaw a little -- and
grins. "Could you... behind Kara?"
And he's there, just like that, faster than she can turn,
hovering behind and *above* Kara. Just --
*Superman*. Babs reaches out to grab his hips, and Clark's
holding himself and pushing his dick back *in* to her mouth
and --
And Kara -- she can't --
Kara's moaning *constantly* now, and Babs knows that
moan --
She's working her own pussy, fucking herself -- so shallowly
Babs really should've *guessed*, licking and licking --
She's licking, *too*, and she almost doesn't want to *stop*,
but --
"Kara," Clark says, "I -- I..."
She *knows* what that means. Mission on its way to being
very much *accomplished* is what it means, and Clark
gasps when she pulls off. "Clark, you should -- oh Kara so
*good* -- slow enough for me to be able to see it?"
And Clark's eyes are absolutely *burning*, and she *also*
knows what that means, but it's impossible to want to flinch
when Kara Zor-El is tongue-fucking you.
It just *is*, especially since it just gets faster, *harder*, and
she --
Oh, it's almost frantic, panicked, maybe, and Clark is sinking
to his knees --
Clark is holding Kara's hips --
Kara is *whining* against her, reaching up to clutch at
*Babs'* hips and -- oh, her hands are warm and wet on her,
sticky and --
"I -- *Kara*," Clark says, and Kara jerks and shivers and
just... loosens all over. Had he done it? Why doesn't *she*
have X-ray vision --
But then Clark looks at *her*, and then down at his own
hand, and he's sliding it over Kara's ass, down and between
her legs --
And when Kara screams, Babs bucks so hard against her
face she *knows* she'll be sore --
But Kara doesn't *stop*, and Clark -- Clark still has her by
the *hips*, and --
"Do it," she says, and she doesn't sound like herself and she
barely sounds like Batgirl, but she can't -- "*Do* it."
"Babs," Clark says, and looks her *right* in the eye --
And --
The view could be better, but the noises Kara's making
against her -- into her --
Oh, it's even faster, even *harder*, and Babs knows that
Kara's controlling it, that both Kara *and* Clark are
controlling it, but Clark is *still* knocking Kara's face against
her with every --
Every thrust --
Every --
"Oh, don't *stop*," she says, and she's already coming
before it's all out, she's --
Kara doesn't stop.
And -- neither does Clark.
*
"I never -- I never needed *recovery* time from someone
going down -- on me -- before," Babs says, and Tim --
Tim is just the kind of wonderful boy who'll take that as a
*hint*, pulling back and licking his lips --
And fucking her *hard* with his fingers. It's three now, or
maybe four, and she can't -- She wants to tell him he's
wonderful, that he's just the best toy in the world, the best
little tiny freakishly *small* boy that any Mommy could
*have*, but now that she's done talking --
She's done *talking*, and Tim adds that perfect little
corkscrewing *twist* to every thrust, and she'd *put*
herself in this position because --
She doesn't remember *why*. She's still bent backwards,
most of her weight on her shoulder blades and shins. She
can't get leverage to thrust back at *all* in this position,
and it doesn't matter that Tim knows she's close, that
Timmy is giving it to her *just* right -- she just -- she has
to --
"No," he says, "stay right -- stay right *there*," and he
doesn't stop, but he *does* crawl-walk closer, over her,
and uses his free hand to grab one of the arms Babs is
bracing herself on --
And *bites* her nipple, slow and hard and getting harder,
increasing a little --
Fucking her --
Biting and fucking --
"Robin, Robin -- oh, come on, get me off make me come --"
And the thrusts just get harder, *deeper*, and for a
moment she's in two places, she --
Kara's giving new meaning to face-fuck with every driving,
grinding *thrust* Kal's giving her -- Timmy's giving her --
Oh, Timmy's so *good* --
And one of the few things Babs loves just as much as
coming hard --
Is coming hard while there's a *hand* inside her, something
that can really appreciate every bit of pressure her internal
muscles are putting out, grinding in --
"Fuck, Babs, I *need* that hand --"
Not right now he doesn't.
Not until *she* says so.
After, most of her muscle groups split themselves between
being convinced that Babs needs to stay *right* here and
enjoy the happy buzz and being convinced that if Babs
doesn't move -- and evict Timmy's hand -- there'll be hell
to pay.
Sadly, only one of them can be right.
Timmy pulls when she pushes, and then Babs takes a breath
and convinces her abs to move her upright again. Woozily
upright, but -- still.
Mmph. Babs does a little stretching, and Tim's right there to
massage the life back into her legs while she works on her
arms. Then they switch, and Timmy is tiny and has no fat
anywhere *on* him, but he makes a good *enough* pillow
when they're on the floor.
Babs gives herself a minute. Then --
"So how hard are you?"
"Comfortably," Tim says, and there's a really nice smile in
his voice that would only look filthy if Babs opened her eyes.
She keeps them closed and uses her head to knead at Tim's
thigh.
Tim pets her hair. "Do you think -- you don't think Bruce
would head out without us at this point, do you?"
"No," she says, and thinks about it. "Yes."
Tim grunts and bends and stretches until he can snag his
palm-top. "Hm. Well, he's still bugged, at least."
"So where is he?"
"If I'm judging the coordinates right... he's watching us from
the Cave."
Babs snorts. "So he's at the console -- he could be doing
something else. Like... working. On something -- okay, no,
you're right, he's watching us. How long since he's moved?"
"Twelve minutes," Tim says, and grins. "And since I know
this room is wired... Mexican standoff."
This is absolutely going to turn out to be one of those boys
and their toys moments -- she knows it. "You're completely
capable of just sitting there watching a little dot symbolizing
Bruce watch *you*, aren't you?"
"Well, the pick-up on this isn't secure -- or hardcore --
enough for me to hack a Cave feed safely -- *ow*," and Tim
*would* have her in a headlock, but Babs is much, much
too fast for that, and it's only a couple of minutes before
they're squared-off.
Babs gives him the come-on.
"Can't we think of it as mutual voyeurism? I mean, come on,
Babs, it's *funny*."
"It's *funnier* if at least *one* of us is actually *doing*
something," she says, and spins into a tumble that gets her
candlestick back in hand. "And since you're not telling a
*story*..."
"I -- you're right that it is my turn," Tim says, which is
promising even with the longing look he's giving to the
palm-top.
She's *naked* over here, for God's sake. "What's it going to
*be*, Timmy?"
"Well -- it's true that I have some stories. Some of which
you don't even know," he says, and drops into a crouch --
Babs prepares for a spring --
Tim puts down the palm-top and slides it under the couch.
And stands up again.
Little bastard. "I'm waiting."
"Well, I... this one *is* a little spooky. I could probably use
the tender embrace of a warm, loving, and much older
woman."
"I'll give Wonder Woman the message," Babs says, and taps
her foot a little. "Now *give*."
"You're the meanest mommy in the *world*," Tim says, and
lets himself fall back on the couch. "So it was Halloween --"
"This one past?"
"Nah, my first one as Robin," Tim says, and pulls his feet up
on the cushion.
He's naked, too, of course, but, well, it's Timmy. Outside,
he wears clothes so no one will think he's Robin. In here, he
wears clothes because otherwise Alfred *looks* at him, and
Alfred isn't here. And just because he's not getting any
more cuddle from her at the moment...
Babs settles on the other end of the couch.
"More. Now."
"Bruce was still giving me nights off for homework and stuff
like that, but -- it was *Halloween*. I figured there was
*something* I could be doing, even if Scarecrow and all
the other freaks who like to make noise on Halloween were
still locked up."
*
Of course, it isn't all *that* early in his tenure as Robin, and
Bruce takes the whole 'night off' concept way too seriously,
sometimes.
Not only are his uniforms locked away -- most of his
*civilian* clothes are missing in action, too. There are socks
and underwear and that's -- really it. It's entirely possible
that if Tim hadn't had to go to school today, he'd be having
a naked kind of night.
As it is --
Well, it's a very, very clear and painfully obvious message.
Tim would be at least a little hurt if, well.
He *had* been sneaking out a fair amount, it's true. But
really --
Five nights a week -- more if he's needed -- he's gotten to
have *Gotham*, all of it, the way only he -- *Robin* -- can.
If Bruce hadn't wanted him to *need* that feeling, he
shouldn't have *trained* Tim into someone who feels kind
of bad -- physically -- if he gets more than six hours of sleep
a night.
And worse than that if he doesn't do -- *something*.
Granted, there's nothing stopping him from training, but --
Really, Bruce had to *know* this wouldn't work. He just --
Maybe if he'd just *told* Tim to stay in, it would be different.
Leave a *note* if he couldn't *find* Tim, something. But
Bruce never --
Well, somewhere along the way (Scarecrow), he'd just kind
of started saving his orders up. At least -- it feels that way.
If Bruce orders him to do something, it's either going to be
life-or-death important, or *feel* that way to one or both
of their dicks. The rest...
Well, the rest is several different kinds (where did he even
*put* Tim's clothes?) of optional. *Degrees* of optional,
really. Right about now, the degree feels pretty mild:
It's late October and it's Gotham -- but Bruce, being Bruce,
really *could've* found a way to stop Tim from going to
school with a jacket if he was *really* serious about keeping
him down.
After that, it's just a matter of deactivating the alarms on
the 'boot' hobbling Tim's bike, demolishing the 'boot' in
question with a small -- *very* small, he's not reckless --
charge, a crowbar, and some of their industrial lubricant,
changing the tire -- just in *case* he'd damaged it, again,
he's not reckless --
*
"Sometimes I still don't know why he didn't just keep you
chained to something when we didn't need you."
Timmy grins at the ceiling. "I -- it's just a theory, but --"
Oh -- God. "You *asked* him to do it, didn't you? You waited
until he was all hot and bothered and *vulnerable* --"
"He didn't *feel* vulnerable --"
"And you put the image in his head of -- keeping you like a
boy-shaped *toy*, and so completely neutralized his
ability..." Babs kicks him. "You're not sleeping again until
you *tell* me what the hell he did to you on that subway
car."
Timmy -- no, it's still hard to tell whether or not it's a
snicker. It sounds like one, but his expression is much too
fond. "It just kind of set a *tone*," he says.
"Uh, huh. So you stage the Great Escape."
"Yep. But it wasn't as much fun as I thought it would be --
seriously, *you* remember that Halloween."
Babs thinks. "It doesn't really... it didn't really stand *out*,
except for how it was a Halloween that didn't really, well,
stand out."
"Exactly. I think Bruce figured out later that someone in Old
Arkham had messed with the dosages until just about
everyone there was *catatonic*."
"So of course they fired whoever it was instead of pinning a
medal on."
Timmy laughs again. "I don't know for *sure*, but I think
Bruce had a little talk with the person about the difference
between palliative psychiatric care and assault."
Babs feels herself making a face and doesn't bother to put
the brakes on it. "Stupid laws."
"Yep. But at least they keep *us* in business."
And there's something... well, it's something --
Most of the time, it's easy to forget that they'd nearly --
Well, for a while last year it had been an actual *question* --
would they get Timmy back? Would he ever really be --
they'd nearly lost *Robin*. They maybe would have, if Clark
hadn't come looking for Tim while *they* were looking, and
if he hadn't been able to just track him by his vitals --
They'd found him, and he'd been...
Physically, it hadn't been anything a lot of anti-toxin, burn
salve, and *sleep* couldn't cure. But there was --
Joker and Harley had him for -- a while.
Most of the time, she doesn't even think about it, about
those weeks of just waiting and watching and -- sometimes
it felt like she and Bruce were just *forcing* Timmy back
into his skin, that it was painful and -- and even kind of
abusive.
But then he was there. At first just a little, and then more,
and more, until it was like the way it is now. You have to
really *know* Timmy to realize when he's being a little scary,
as opposed to just himself.
And the look on his face right now -- that amused-in-the-
wrong-way little *twist*. He knows what she's been thinking
about.
Spooky. Right.
Babs raises her leg until she can just kind of *grind* her
heel against his cheek.
"Yes?"
"Just because it's fun to beat people up every night doesn't
mean we're supposed to like it. This much. That much."
Tim bites the side of her heel, quick and light, and then
shifts until Babs' foot is resting on his shoulder. "You're right,
of course. I don't know what I was thinking."
"Hey --"
"I'm okay --"
"I *know* that, Freak Wonder. I just -- wanna make sure
you know that *I'm* okay."
And the look on his face now...
Well, once upon a time, Babs could've sworn that Tim wasn't
really capable of looking at her like there was anything
behind his eyes but tiny, pervy *boy*, but, well.
Everyone gets older. It's not a bad thing to be Tim's big
sister *and* his 'mommy.' It can't be.
Babs tickles Tim's ear with her toes. "So it was a dark and
not stormy and really kind of boring night..."
"And there was really no way to be *sure* where Bruce --
Batman was. He could've been anywhere, and while I could
stop a few assholes from bullying kids for their candy, *I*
didn't really have any of my own toys."
"Because technically you were supposed to be home *acting*
like a good boy."
"Right," Tim says, and licks the sole of Babs' foot, quick and
light enough that it barely makes her flex her toes. "So I
realized that I had to either go home or lie low..."
*
He could probably earn some points if he just stopped by
the clinic and helped out for a few hours, which is something
he absolutely would do -- so many different kinds of wounds
and diseases and *problems*, he always learns so *much* --
Except for how it's Halloween, which means Leslie is there.
Just like every -- *every* other holiday or kind-of holiday. It
makes sense -- idiot civilians just get *stupider* on their
days off, making Leslie's presence necessary, but --
It's not fair for Gotham to make him feel all exposed like this.
He's *Robin*, Gotham is *his*, and he shouldn't have to
fucking *hide*.
Well, it's not really hiding if you've got someone to visit. He's
just... seeing a friend.
Granted, it's *Bruce's* friend, but -- well. If anyone is doing
something interesting on Halloween that Robin -- or Tim
Drake -- could conceivably be invited to, it *has* to be Jason
Blood, right?
Right.
Tim peels out -- a little, he's being *subtle* -- and heads for
the park district. Real estate there is probably real affordable
if you just buy it a few hundred *years* ago. And really --
Blood's shop and his home above it add the kind of character
to the neighborhood which almost certainly makes his
neighbors lose their collective shit on a regular basis. It's
entirely possible -- even probable -- that one or two of those
neighbors had gotten nasty about it over the years, but...
Tim doesn't think it would've been more than two.
Blood has a room with a bookshelf in it -- there aren't any
books. Just -- lots and lots of little it-*looks*-like-glass jars
and other containers. One of those containers has Klarion
*in* it, and it's not that Tim isn't aware that people in other
cities *aren't* afraid of their heroes, it's just that it doesn't
quite make sense.
Still, there's something a little -- terrifying, yes, but exciting
*too* about hanging with someone creepier than Batman at
his -- worst-or-possibly-best. He's definitely glad Blood is on
*their* side. For a lot of reasons.
Which is why -- after making sure the shop is closed -- Tim
makes a point of smiling very wide at Blood from just
outside the window of his study. It's *good* --
"Happy Hallowe'en -- Robin?"
And it's even better that Tim can *hear* the apostrophe,
and also the fact that Blood didn't recognize him. He doesn't
look like... Tim doesn't look like *anyone* in his civvies, it's
true, but -- still. Blood has *met* him in these clothes (well,
the annoyingly formal *version* of these clothes), and the
double-take... is really, really rewarding.
Blood opens the window, and --
Well, that's one of the other things about him. Other
people -- most people -- would ask before tugging Tim inside
by his ankles. Blood just does it, and puts his hands on
Tim's shoulders and -- hey.
"Are you... reading me or something?"
Bruce is capable of smiling with only his eyes. So is Blood --
even though it looks like he's doing something entirely
different with his eyes, *too*. "Something," he says, then
taps Tim's shoulders once and steps back.
"So --"
"You're here to avoid being caught by Bruce. And yet it's
also a social call." This time, the smile makes it to Blood's
mouth, quick and *neat*, before fading again. "I'm
flattered."
He's *creepy*. It's -- well, it's *new*. He'd thought living
with Bruce for a year would *break* him of the ability to be
creeped, but, well. Even knowing Blood was creepy
beforehand, even having already been around him...
Well, this is where Bruce would say something -- possibly
*intone* something -- about Gotham. And *this* -- is
where Tim lets Robin out a little more.
"Well... it is Halloween," Tim says, rocking on his heels and
looking around for -- no, there's really no place in this entire
building -- possibly on this entire block -- where he'd feel
entirely comfortable tumbling or flipping. Or moving very
fast.
"Yes. I would say that I'm afraid that I tend to make this
particular night as quiet for myself -- *all* of myself -- as
possible, but... you're not here for a show."
He isn't -- that's. That's actually news to him. "I --"
"You're not," Blood says and does -- something with his
hand. It's --
It had *looked* like he was making a little half-assed puppet
gesture, or maybe tugging something out of the air --
But Tim's hands are palm-up, flat and even in front of him.
*What*? "How did you --"
"Bruce didn't want to listen to what I had to say about you,
you know."
It's -- Tim knows Blood is distracting him -- or trying to --
but. If he is ever going to get over that -- that thing on the
*train*, it won't be today. "You talked about me with him?"
"Yes. You were... 'sleeping off' the healing I gave you. You
were. Hm. Curled in my chair precisely as though you were
too exhausted to remember that everything about me --
even my furnishings -- was frightening to you."
"You -- you're not hypnotizing me." It just -- it feels like --
It feels like Blood is *telling* him something, or -- playing
paint-by-numbers with his memories, or --
He doesn't know.
"No," Blood says, and touches Tim's forehead, and then his
chin. "It would be very, very dangerous for me to do that...
to a boy like you."
Tim narrows his eyes. "*You* -- you know exactly what that
phrase means to me. Is *that* what you talked about with
Bruce?"
"Hardly. And I wouldn't say 'exactly,' either. Call it an
educated guess from one who has wandered. Who has... I
have not always had a home, Robin," Blood says, and
gestures again, and it's --
This time, he can feel himself wanting to move, and he
can -- he *knows* that he hadn't wanted to move before
Blood had gestured --
It's just that he can't actually stop himself from raising his
arms above his head and stretching up onto his toes --
Until he can. Tim puts a little weight on his back-leg and
doesn't -- quite -- get into a ready position. "If you wanted
a show from *me* --"
"Bravado. Fascinating -- considering what you could be doing
instead of simply threatening," Blood says, and does --
something.
It's not a gesture, and it doesn't feel like --
Well, that's just it. Suddenly, the study is just a room, again,
and Tim isn't even sure when -- or why -- it hadn't been.
"You -- really need to explain. A lot. Now," Tim says, and
*then* gets back out of his ready-position. Granted, Blood
could put *him* in a damned jar for the next several
centuries if he wanted to, but it's the principle of the thing.
"I'd hoped Bruce would explain... but I have to admit that
I'm less than surprised that he didn't. And that he would
pick *this* night to work so very hard to keep you... safe,"
Blood says, and moves a stool from the corner to the space
in front of his perfectly normal-looking easy chair before
taking the chair for himself and gesturing. "Please."
Granted, a part of Tim -- a pretty *large* part of Tim --
wants the rest of him to know that the window is still open
and his bike is right down *there* --
But the rest of Tim wants him to know that he is no longer
bored at *all*. Tim smiles to himself and jumps up on the
stool, crouching and --
If he had his cape, it would be perfect, but Blood doesn't
seem to mind the lack of it.
"A bird, yes. Though not like Bruce's last at all."
Tim frowns. "Dick didn't mention having met you."
"He hasn't," Blood says, and crosses his legs. "For some
reason Bruce didn't see fit to introduce me to *him*. But
you..."
"Look -- what about *me*?"
"Hm. A moment," Blood says, and picks up one of the books
on the table beside him. It looks older than the manor --
well, no. It looks older than Gotham, and there's something
about it which makes it seem like maybe the whole city had
grown up around it.
Or around the person who owns it.
"I just need to find... ah, this one," he says, and hands the
book to Tim with his finger on the page. "Read the one on
the right for me, please. Not the one on left. That would
be... well. Trust me for a moment."
That's not English, Spanish, or even Portuguese. He can't --
"Please," Blood says. "Now."
He really *can't*, but -- okay, fine. Humor the incredibly
powerful creepy guy who can put him in a *jar*. If he kind
of...
Well, it's not really squinting, unless the squinting is inside
his own head. It's... well, the book feels really good in his
hands, and the poem... no, it's not a poem. It's...
The words, when they come, also aren't really words.
They're... motions that have nothing to do with Tim's body,
or anyone's body. They're...
They're pieces of power, like the steps which lead to a
perfect kick, or the --
The --
He's floating. He's -- the stool is down *there*, and Blood is
*smiling* at him, and --
"Jesus, *what* --"
"No, not Him, I don't think. You're about to fall. Hold on to
the book --"
He does, and he -- tumbles away from the stool at the last
minute and makes a three-point landing beside it, instead.
And then he *shoves* the book at Blood. "What -- what the
*fuck*?"
"A better imprecation by far, I think," Blood says, taking the
book and putting it with the others. "And this -- is what I
explained to Bruce about you."
"That -- I don't even know how --"
"If I'd handed that volume to Bruce..." Blood's laugh is a
quick and kind of *spare* two notes. "He would, of course,
hand it back to me with polite refusal. However, even if he
didn't... the most he would be able to do with it is use that
powerful mind to break the code of the languages within. It
would be an amusing puzzle. He would not be able to
exchange his mass with any object he was touching -- you
really might've been able to land safely on the stool, if you
timed it properly -- however briefly."
Which -- his hands --
His hands feel oily and strange *beneath* the skin, and the
rest of him...
"What -- what did I do to *myself*?"
"Everything has a cost, Robin. That particular spell shouldn't
leave you feeling out-of-sorts for very long."
"And the one on the left...?"
"Given your lack of control and experience, it may very well
have killed you. Along with turning everything in your sight
which caused you fear into... mm. I imagine you would've
found the birds you created frightening, too."
Tim doesn't bother to fight back the scowl before getting
back up on the stool. "Including the one with a *demon*
inside it?"
"Ah, the verse Etrigan would come up with for *that* one...
hmm. It may very well have been worth it, if there was only
someone to record it for posterity. Robin."
"You -- you haven't called me Tim since I've been here."
"That's not whom I'm speaking to. It hasn't been the case
for quite some time, yes?"
Tim is -- the clothes he wears and the face for the really
bored paparazzi who follow Bruce around. He -- really
wishes he had his cape. "You're saying I'm some kind of...
witch. Wizard."
"Both of those words imply... training you lack. Suffice it to
say that you have *potential*."
And that... Tim's willing to bet the important word in that
sentence was 'training.'
Blood has his hands folded on his lap, but it's a very obvious
*kind* of fold, similar to the way Bruce either crosses his
arms, puts his hands in his pockets, or straightens his tie --
depending on which Bruce he's supposed to be.
It's --
Well, that fold might not be *for* him, but there are other
things here which *are*.
"You asked Bruce if you could train me."
"I did," Blood says, and gives Tim another one of those brief,
*exact* smiles. "Very politely."
"I -- did he say *why* he wouldn't let you?"
This time, the smile lasts longer. "He didn't have to be
explicit. Bruce has always preferred prestidigitation to
anything distressingly -- real."
Tim frowns. "You don't think he has enough to deal with?"
"Gotham and reckless adopted sons...? Oh, I think he has
enough. Hence my offer."
"I..." He doesn't really know how he feels about the fact that
Bruce hadn't even told him. It would be *one* thing if he'd
even *warned* Tim that his 'old friend' was an *old* friend,
and also a *demon* before dragging Tim along to play,
but...
"I respect his wishes, of course. But I can't help but feel...
well. You came to me."
("You *took* this for your own, without permission or offer.
And now you're going to earn it.")
*
"Oh, dirty pool! He was trying to *poach*."
"Yeah he was," Tim says, and throws himself -- lightly --
back until his head is in Babs' laps. "He's a dirty, creepy,
immortal man."
Babs snorts and scratches a little at the notch at the center
of Tim's collarbone. "Kara says he creeps Clark *right*
out."
Tim closes his eyes, hums, and smiles. "Well, magic *is* his
one non-Kryptonite weakness. Honestly, you'd think Bruce
would encourage me."
"Maybe he just wants to make sure you don't turn Clark into
a toad sometime when the world actually *needs* him, Boy
Impulse Control Problems."
"I wouldn't turn him into a *toad*. Maybe a tentacle beast,
but not a *toad*."
Images. Just -- wow. Babs taps Tim's sternum warningly.
"Stop that."
"It's *Clark*. He would go bond with giant squids and giant
space squids until I had to make him go irradiate himself
again."
Why didn't he use magic when Joker...? She's never asked
him and she doesn't know if Bruce has asked him, and --
Maybe he couldn't?
"Babs...?"
She's been rubbing his chest like she's trying to scrub
something *off* it. "God, sorry, Timmy. Just -- spacing."
"Every time I use it -- whether or not it's the dark magic
Faust likes to throw around -- I feel like I'm farther away
from being myself. I had -- enough trouble holding on."
Oh. "So... I'm that obvious?"
"It was just you and Bruce when I was... out of commission,
Babs. I got to know your 'worried about Tim' expressions
pretty well."
He's softer now than he used to be, in some ways. Like it's
harder than it used to be to just be the Perverted Jerk
Wonder, or...
"And you're just as creeped-out by magic as Bruce is. You
just don't admit it," Tim says.
That's not fair -- "Bruce doesn't admit it, either! He just
scowls a lot and pretends it's not there."
"Unless he absolutely has to deal with it, and then he does
everything except, well, irradiate *himself* when it's all
done. It doesn't fit for him, and it doesn't fit for *you* --"
"But it fits for you?"
Tim really shouldn't be able to look at her that seriously
upside-down and practically *nestled* in her lap, but he
can.
Now.
"It only fits me when I'm not thinking about it. So I'm
always... thinking about it. At least a little."
The thing is, Timmy's big enough now that he doesn't fit
perfectly in her lap -- as opposed to *nicely* in her lap --
but Babs doesn't care. Especially because the first thing Tim
does is cup her face and kiss her, slow and soft and --
It's not the way they kiss. They don't really kiss much at
*all*, but -- he loves her.
"Robin," she says, when he pulls back. And if she doesn't
really have what comes after that --
"BG."
-- it doesn't really matter. She pushes him back a little,
enough that she doesn't really have to strain her wrists to
play with his balls, and, "so you're in the spider's parlor..."
"Or 'study' as the case may be. Use your nails a little?"
"Mm-hmm..."
"And -- well. I was thinking about it..."
*
And -- it's not that being around Bruce *hadn't* taught him
how to repress a shiver -- or a shudder -- but he knows
Blood can see it, just the same.
That little 'or something' he does every time Tim looks him
in the eye --
It's not like he's going to stop looking him in the *eye*,
either. And he... it's all right there. What he could --
maybe -- have.
He could...
Could he learn to fly?
And some of the criminals they went up against every
night --
What if he'd been able to save Annie?
"I should say, for the record, that every person I've ever
taught has eventually felt the need to try to kill me."
"I don't -- we don't kill."
"Of course," Blood says. "You're a particular temptation.
Bruce has already taught you so much about control, and
you'll never lack for purpose if you choose to continue living
here --"
"Gotham is my home," he says, and he'd wanted it to come
out fighting, to do -- what he couldn't.
It's just that it would've been way too immature to actually
let it do that, and -- he isn't sure what he's fighting, exactly --
no, he does.
"Look, Bruce is your friend -- and I'm his partner."
"So quickly? I -- I wouldn't have accepted *your* acceptance
tonight, even assuming you would give it --"
"I won't. I..."
"You can't?" Blood stands up, smoothly and easily --
Tim knows what Blood would look like if he was capable of
aging. He's seen it, and -- it's there, he thinks. The way age
disintegrates people from the inside out. It's in the way too
*thoughtful* feel of Blood's hands on his face, and, of
course, it's in Blood's eyes.
"I should ask Bruce to tell me how he inspires such loyalty."
"The reasons he has for being creepy and disturbing are
less creepy and disturbing than *your* reasons for being --"
"Creepy and disturbing, yes," Blood says. "And yet you're no
more frightened of me than a normal child would be of
someone larger..."
It's interesting -- among other things. Tim's never been
with -- in any way -- someone who managed to be not-
casual-in-the-least, but still had no problem with just
*touching* him.
He hasn't even been flirting, and Blood's fingers are stroking
through his sideburns, up into his hair and down again. It's
somehow more obvious than it's been at any time other than
those times when he's actively been showering with Bruce
that he doesn't have more than a little *down* on his
cheeks.
"Uh... Jason?"
"Yes, Robin?"
It's a name when he says it. Or -- perhaps closer to a Name.
It's harder to repress this shiver.
"You're uncomfortable, but intrigued. If you don't mind, I'd
like to work with that."
Seduce him into switching mentors? It's certainly a *new*
approach -- or at least a new rationale behind an old one.
"Or... you could tell me how he touches you."
The thing is -- right up until this point, he'd been *sure*
Bruce had hooked up with Blood at least once. But if he
had... Well, Blood really should know.
"Hm. You're small, and young. You seem younger than you
actually are. A rebellious -- somewhat -- squire, with power
his knight would rather deny -- but not to hold you
*back*."
"Jason, you should..." He's not sure. Stop talking about
Bruce? Stop touching him *while* talking about Bruce?
That seems closer. That -- that's for someone Blood really
just isn't.
"And you're almost certainly most accustomed to being the
aggressor, sexually."
"I barely look pubescent, Jason. I have to -- well, most of
the people I know have a problem with that."
"Which is, of course, one of the things which make it easier
to *pursue* them. Yes?"
And that's psychology, not magic. Easier to -- deal with. "Put
yourself in my position."
"I'm not that flexible," Blood says, then pushes Tim's head
back and kisses him.
It's a slow kiss, and a hard one -- Blood's mouth seems even
(older) harder than Bruce's, and hungry in a way he can't
quite...
When Bruce kisses him, there's always a sense that Bruce
could be -- and maybe would rather be -- biting. With Blood,
it's more like he wants to suck something *out* of him --
"You -- Jason --"
"Robin," he says, and "yes," and kisses him again, and --
Before tonight, he doesn't think he would've been able to be
sure that Jason *wasn't* feeding on him in some way, but
now he knows that it's just a kiss. That --
It's just the way he kisses, or the way he kisses *Robin*, if
not --
The specifics are harder than the general -- he's safe here,
whether or not it feels that way.
Blood isn't doing anything *freaky* to him -- even though
the only reason why he knows that is that he *has* to know
everything else about himself.
"I'm not going to leave him," Tim says. "Not for -- anything."
It's a better and truer word than 'anyone.'
"And he won't let you go. He already lost one -- and so he
makes you obvious cages with obvious exits, one after
another. This," he says, and traces... something on Tim's
forehead, "the fact that he left this for you to discover on
your own is another trap."
And another exit he won't take. "I already knew he was
manipulative. What do you want?"
Blood's smile is -- too wide, and too closed-off, and too --
too *old*. He can't --
Tim can't stop seeing centuries, and he knows, now, that if
he stays here for too long he'll start to feel them, too.
"Perhaps, from time to time, you'll consider visiting me, if
only to let me help you learn to control what you have within
you. Just in case."
If Tim could, he'd hunt down assassins to learn from. It's not
like he can just take off for years like Dick did -- but he can
do this. He nods. "What else?"
"Perhaps a... taste," Blood says, and drops into a crouch of
his own. "If you'd deign to use the stool as it was intended,
of course."
It's less surprising than it could (or maybe should -- there
are times when Tim's just not *sure*) be that Blood wants
to suck him off. It's the act of choice for the older ones,
and --
Laughing in here, or maybe just laughing now -- it feels
wrong, or maybe just dangerous.
But not as dangerous as it is to brace himself on his hands
and swing until he's sitting on his ass.
"Far more convenient than your uniform, these," Blood says
and the movement of his fingers on Tim's fly is -- it seems
like there's a little too much of it, or too --
"What are you doing --"
"Hm. Think of it as 'encouragement,'" Blood says and his fly
is open and his dick is poking out of the slit of his briefs,
and --
And Blood's hand is still moving, he's still --
It's nothing like an alarm inside his head. It's -- the feeling
doesn't seem to *be* inside his head. It's all over his skin,
it's the room, and the fact that Tim knows, now, that
everything Blood's touched in this room -- this *building* --
is part of him. Pieces of him, and his power --
It explains so *much*, but it -- it's fucking *late*. How did
Bruce never notice the feeling? He's *been* here when
Blood was using magic, he --
*Would* other people feel it? Normal... he's --
It's not --
"There," Blood says, and touches the head of Tim's dick with
his finger --
And Tim screams, because --
He screams again, and -- that's Blood's tongue, but it's also --
He screams *again*, because that's not just Blood's finger
or his tongue, it's every shed piece of Blood surrounding,
every hint of skin and blood and come and just --
*everything* --
When he screams again --
The gag is just a simple scrap of fabric, but it's Blood, too.
In his mouth, holding him quiet -- keeping him --
"Your power, listening to my own. *Answering* my own,"
Blood says, and ties the gag tight. "You won't be damaged."
He's grateful for the gag when Blood wraps his lips around
Tim for real, though. He -- he *can't* keep himself from
screaming. It's --
He's never had sex with a *building* before --
*
"Oh, that's right, this is before that thing with the Fortress."
"Oh, way before," Tim says, squeezing Babs' thighs with his
knees before leaning back into a stretch, and -- "Oh -- fuck,
*Bruce* --"
"Yes," Bruce says, and the thing is, *Babs* hadn't seen him
coming, either, but she's better at faking it.
Also, she's not the one who'd leaned back expecting air and
hit the wall of Bruce. Mm. "And here I thought we'd have to
come get you," she says, and bounces Timmy on her lap
enough to make him kind of... *rub* against Bruce with his
back.
"Hm," he says, and strokes Tim's hair until he has a good
handful. "I'd like to think I'm getting better about things like
that."
"Oh, you are," Timmy says. "That doesn't mean you're
anywhere near *good*, yet -- hey --"
The 'hey' is Bruce yanking Tim's head *back* until he can
bend to kiss him. To...
Well, it's hard to tell by looking, but Babs would just *bet*
he's kissing Tim exactly the way Tim had described *Blood*
kissing.
Certainly, it would explain the way that Tim's shaking and
clutching at Babs' hands. "That's not nice, Bruce," she says,
helpfully.
Bruce *hums* into Tim's mouth before breaking the kiss.
"You're absolutely right," he says, and grabs Tim by the
obliques instead of the hair, lifts him off Babs' lap, lifts
*Babs* off the couch, and --
"Hey, that's my spot!" And she gives Timmy's wrist a
squeeze. He looks a little wobbly in her peripheral vision.
"You're absolutely welcome to return to it."
"Also -- you took some perfectly nice lap away from *me*,
Bruce," Timmy says, and --
They really are *both* bare-ass naked. It's too big a room
to still *reek* of sex, but it's not...
It's one of the (many) things which is making the expression
on Bruce's face just right. He isn't saying a *word*, and he's
smiling at both of them with his eyes like they're just...
The best family a guy could have. It's hard to be around
Bruce when he's like this without grinning like she's been
drugged, but Babs has long since learned to blame the
pheromones and go with it, especially since Bruce is slowly
and obviously running his big, hard hands over the fabric of
his Bruce-Wayne trousers --
Over his *thighs* --
"Then again," Timmy says, "I think it's possible that Bruce
has enough to go around. Lap, that is."
It really is *ridiculous* to do this, or maybe to do it with
Timmy right there, or in *this* part of the manor --
She can't help it. Bruce's thighs were *made* to be
straddled, and having just one of them means -- ah --
It means *something*, especially when Bruce flexes.
But Tim *doesn't* straddle Bruce's other thigh, which just
seems bizarre --
Until she can see him settling down on the floor, between
Bruce's feet. When he rests his head against Babs' thigh,
she really kinda has to pet him.
"So," Bruce says, "you were saying, Tim?"
The angle (and her focus, considering) isn't the best for it,
but the expression on Tim's face is just... really, really
*interesting*. Something between what would probably be
a blush on someone not *Robin*, a leer, and also something
a little like fear. Can't have that. Babs jogs her thigh against
Tim's face a little. "Yeah, we were just to the part where
you were getting fucked by a *building*..."
"Jason's building," Bruce says, and the smile in his eyes isn't
anywhere near his mouth, and *his* focus... "After
disobeying my orders --"
"I'd like to point out that you never *explicitly* ordered me
to stay in -- as opposed to just not patrolling."
"Mm," Bruce says, and leans back. Slightly. He has one hand
on Babs' waist and the other on the thigh Timmy's being an
*idiot* about not using. "Did you enjoy him?"
"Did *you*?"
And Babs thinks that's a really *good* question --
"It's not my turn," Bruce says, and brushes at Babs' ribs with
his thumb. "Yet."
"Heh. Okay, *Dad* --"
"Ooh, no, don't do that, Timmy. Please, please --" Please
don't do that.
Timmy *smiles* at her, and the awful thing is how *real* it
is. Or --
"You *really* shouldn't discourage the boy so," Bruce says,
in the *Brucie* voice, "Mommy."
*That* was definitely a snicker from Timmy. It's not all that
different from his other laughs, but it's a snicker in his little
bastard *eyes*. "You -- ew. Just. Both of you," Babs says,
and can't really -- ever -- regret making a face like the one
she's making if it makes Bruce use his free hand to smooth
it out.
And just --
Look at her. Mm.
"Tim," and Bruce never looks away. "Please continue."
"I -- it's just that he's your *friend*."
"So is Clark," Bruce says, and *pushes* his hand into Babs'
hair. And pulls her into a kiss, and another --
And another, just -- *mm* --
"It hasn't stopped you before," Bruce says.
"I don't *talk* about it in front of you," Tim says, and
that's --
Babs had been ready and willing to *swear* that any and
all blushes she's ever even *thought* she's seen on Tim's
face were probably just hallucination or wishful thinking,
but this one... that's a blush. "I -- wow." She doesn't really
have anything more than that.
Bruce grunts and raises his eyebrow. *That's* a wow, too.
"I -- okay, I only talk about it in front of you in the sense
that you have *tracers* on me at all times, and also the
place where I spend most of my life is bugged from top to
bottom. That's -- different."
"Is it. I -- I was hoping it might not be."
Oh, that's -- oh. Bruce just wants to be *with* them, and
he *has* been being really good -- they hadn't even had to
ask him, and Babs is set to *kick* Tim --
"Well, I... it's also... um."
Except for how Tim almost looks the way he did when he
was *new*. Soft and young and -- still blushing. She's not
going to kick him very hard --
"*Babs* was also making it worth my while, Bruce," he says,
and --
Okay, she's not going to kick him at *all*. She --
"Was she," Bruce says, and his hand *tightens* at her waist.
She's going to kiss him. That's --
God, Bruce isn't even *looking* at her, anymore, but his
hands...
His hands are maybe doing the looking for him. It certainly
feels like they're doing more than just *touching*. Just...
long, firm *strokes* everywhere she's scarred, everywhere
she isn't --
And the sound she makes when Bruce slips a hand between
her legs, between her *lips* --
It's kind of a *croak*, and just that fast her nipples -- it feels
like they're *yanking* themselves hard, fast and tight, and
Bruce is playing with her *urethra*, and her hips can't
decide whether they want to pump or let her *flinch* --
"Jesus, Bruce," Tim says, and kind of takes a hard breath.
"I --"
"I believe," Bruce says, "that I'm edging closer to enacting
some of your fantasies, Tim...?"
"Ah -- I -- God, are you -- where are you touching her?"
And Tim's not talking to *her*, not even a little, and she's
still -- the noises she's making aren't getting any *better* --
"Her urethra, at present," Bruce says. "Did you have a
suggestion?"
"Ohh, I -- fuck. You -- I wasn't *planning* on jerking myself
off for a while, but --"
"Then don't, Tim. Now. Did you have a *suggestion*."
"Oh... fuck, Babs, I --"
"Talk to me, Tim. Only -- to me."
That's -- that's really not *fair*. She tries to save the -- it's
never exactly *just* good to call Bruce 'Daddy' -- as
opposed to good and *awful* -- but it's okay when it's just --
she can't do it when Timmy's right *there* --
It's not fair that he's making her want to --
"Oh -- Bruce. Okay. I -- would you --"
"Yes," Bruce says, and now he's *smiling* at Tim, and
Tim --
Timmy's mouth is open and he's staring up into Bruce's eyes
like the answers to the *universe* are there, and --
"Please --"
She cuts herself off. She didn't mean to *say* it, only...
Timmy's *clutching* her calf now, and not looking at her --
Bruce didn't say he couldn't *look* at her, but -- oh -- oh
Bruce's *hand* --
"Bruce, you should." Tim swallows hard enough that Babs
can *hear* it. "You should tease her... her lips. She --"
"Oh -- *please* --"
"Oh, *fuck*, Bruce --"
"You were saying," Bruce says.
"Yeah, I -- it was... I wished he'd *blindfolded* me, too..."
*
Because Tim can see -- he can see that nothing's changed
around them. The books aren't feeling him up, the freaky
little jars aren't rubbing themselves everywhere he has
*skin* --
It's -- it's *nothing*, except for the surge of something (his
*power*) inside him and the feel of everything, absolutely
*everything* calling to the surge, pulling it out of him,
and --
And when he looks down, Blood isn't even touching him.
He's just watching (waiting), and Tim knows --
He knows Blood's waiting for *this* moment, for the
knowledge that has to be in Tim's eyes now --
Just --
His dick is *spitting* pre-come, constant and too *much*,
he's -- he knows it's just going to sink into this place, he
knows it's going to be a *part* of it.
He wants to beg but he can't, it's just noise, it's just --
"Just a taste," Blood says. "I promised. I keep my promises,
Robin."
It feels -- he can't -- he's shaking his head and he *can't* --
"Does it feel like you're burning? Being touched everywhere?
Being devoured, perhaps?"
Fuck, *yes*, and his balls feel like *rocks*, and his dick is
just -- still twitching and spitting, and he's erect enough that
he's getting pre-come on *himself*, now --
"I could tell you -- I *will* tell you, Robin. This is how I felt,
all the time, with the woman who taught me. Her name
was Morgan. Perhaps Bruce will tell you about her
sometime..."
Bruce already *had*, or -- well. There'd been the files --
"Ah. He already did. Perhaps it seemed like something for
an 'operative' to know about allies...?"
He's -- grunting into the gag and drooling around it, over
and over -- he doesn't even know what he's trying to say, or
if it's words --
"I was a simple and *chaste* knight. You, I think... you're in
no true danger from this, Robin," he says, and draws a lazy
(meaningless, Tim -- Tim *knows*) pattern over and
around the stains on Tim's shirt.
He -- he has to *come* --
"For all that I might wish otherwise," and he reaches --
And Tim *knows* it's the touch, that it's the *right* touch,
and he --
He's flinching *inside*, sparking and rushing -- flowing --
*Please*, he thinks, and *no*, because it's different when
Blood starts sucking this time, it's --
It's *flow*, and Tim's screaming again, begging and
shaking --
Being --
Light --
And he's aware of himself falling off the stool, and being
caught, and of Blood's arms like -- bone and bundles of
branches. His fingers on Tim's face --
*This* pattern means something (rest), but he can't --
He can't.
When he *can*, he's curled up in Blood's chair again. Blood
himself is right there, sitting on the stool and writing
something... but when Tim sits up and looks it's just Latin.
It's a relief *and* it's a disappointment, and --
"There you are. If you leave now, you'll be home before
Bruce. He'll know you've been out, of course, but I'm not
altogether sure if he'll know *where*."
He'd really like to protest pretty much *all* of that,
especially the part that involves him *moving*, but --
He actually doesn't feel any different than how he'd felt
after... or -- no. He feels better. Stronger.
Different. "I -- did I wind up tasting you, too?"
"Inevitable mutuality -- I wouldn't recommend you do that
with just any magic user," Blood says, and turns the page.
As opposed to *him*? He doesn't even know what (there
was opening, he was open and -- *taste*) --
He knows.
Tim shakes himself like a dog. "Okay then. Uh... Happy
Halloween?"
"All Saints' now, I'm afraid. Rather depressing, if you ask --
parts of me. But the intention is welcome," and he writes a
few more words and tosses the book on one of the piles.
"Are you quite all right, Robin?"
"It... that doesn't really seem like the right question.
Somehow. I..." He doesn't feel... *right*, as opposed to
good.
"No, I imagine not, at the moment. I'm -- you'll go home,
and you won't use your power, and the feeling you're having
will fade. But not utterly."
Just a *taste*. Right. "Okay, then," he says, and stands up,
and zips up. It doesn't really feel *instinctual* to kiss
Blood -- on the *cheek* -- but it makes Blood hum a little,
and he feels --
Slightly better. Closer.
The window is still open, and it's time to use it.
*
"And then he... thanked me," Tim says, and there's a part
of Babs which is absolutely aware of the fact that he still
has her leg, and that he's periodically stroking it, up and
down, squeezing her ankle --
She knows he is, and that it's part of a message, and she
thinks --
If she could think, she'd know what the message *was*, but
Bruce has been staring at Tim like a meal he's actually
already in the process of eating, and...
It feels like he's just been *playing* with her, teasing her
for the better part of a year, or at least long enough for it
to stop feeling embarrassing --
She's getting his pants *soaked*, and she doesn't think --
If she had to answer, for her life, just what the hell Tim had
actually *done* with Jason Blood, she'd be one dead Batgirl.
One...
If Tim would just hold her *hand*, give her something to
squeeze, clutch at --
"She's beautiful," Bruce says, and it almost... it sounds like
he's asking Tim a question, and like she's barely --
She might as well be as *unconscious*, even though that
wouldn't work at all, and she -- she knows that, it's just --
"She's always beautiful when she's thinking about you," Tim
says, soft and low. "Bruce --"
"I believed him, when he told me about your potential. I
chose to believe that it wouldn't affect you... emotionally."
"If I just didn't know about it?"
For some reason, *that* makes Bruce look at her. Babs
doesn't --
She really can't do anything *with* it -- she can't even keep
herself from shaking her head like an idiot.
"It seemed plausible, at the time, that it *wouldn't* be
something you would ever have to come to terms with,
Tim," he says, and he's not frowning so much as --
concentrating.
"I can go with that... and I think it's your turn."
"Is it?"
That -- it's a question for her. "I -- you. Oh, Bruce just --
please."
"Hm," and Babs hadn't even known her nipples had stopped
being rock hard until Bruce *touched* them --
Just a touch, and she feels herself getting even wetter,
getting *Bruce* wetter --
"How will you make it worth my while?"
And Tim's not holding her leg anymore, and she hadn't
realized what an anchor it was, how much it --
She's going to need Bruce to hold her steady, but she
doesn't want him to stop touching her, not even for --
So long as he's touching her, he can do what he *wants* --
and when Timmy steps behind her and holds onto her
shoulders -- and pushes his dick against the small of her
back -- she has to moan in *relief*.
"I'm open to suggestions, Bruce," Tim says, and bends
down to nuzzle her scalp. It's the wrong feeling for all of
this. She needs Tim to -- it's too *tender* for the rest of
this, and she's moaning again, and she --
She *doesn't* need to come again yet, but it almost seems
like it would be better if she did.
"I mean, if you have any --"
"Push her -- bend her down until she can rest her head on
my chest."
Tim sucks his teeth. "No more teasing?"
"Not," Bruce says, "from me."
And that's a complete *lie*, because bending like this --
rubbing herself on Bruce's pants -- she can see a *wet*
spot --
"Wow, I -- I don't think I've ever wanted to suck on your
*pants* before, Bruce."
"Every day is an adventure, Robin. You just have to find it."
Laughing makes her jerk, shake -- stop at the feel of Bruce's
hand in her hair and *Tim's* hands on her hips.
"What next, boss?"
"Hm. Lick her for me, please," Bruce says, and this close
she can feel his breathing start to change, start to get --
rougher and more *serious*, somehow. When he slides his
other hand down Babs' back, down and down -- Babs has
to jerk again, because Bruce's finger is in her cleft. "Here."
She's -- she's sweaty and sex-filthy, and the fact that she'd
showered only a couple of hours ago feels like a
*dream* --
"Oh -- fuck, yes, I -- this is why we mostly always kind of
*listen* to you, Bruce," Tim says, and his hands are on her
hips, and she can't really --
She can brace herself on the couch, and she does --
"For *certain* definitions of 'listen,' Bruce says --
But she can't keep herself from biting Bruce's *shirt* when
Tim --
When Timmy --
She's never *done* this with him, they don't -- it's too --
Tim lets her do anything, *everything*, but she doesn't --
this is -- it's for *Bruce*, only --
She doesn't know if it's better or *not* that, this way, she
can feel Bruce almost everywhere *except* her ass, she
can smell him, she can *feel* him when he makes a sound
deep in his chest --
When he tugs on her hair --
"I never imagined..."
When he *talks*, and it's better, it's definitely better,
because Bruce already sounds a little ragged. Babs feels
herself almost scrubbing her face against Bruce's shirt, hears
herself *clawing* at the couch --
Timmy --
"I -- no. I can't say I never dreamed anything like this,"
Bruce says, and, "don't stop until I ask you, Tim. Please."
And Babs can't tell if it's a response or just -- Timmy
*groans* against her, *into* her --
"Good. I felt Dick slipping away from me long before he
left..."
*
It's hard, now, to remember feeling confident in Dick's
presence. To remember the security of the way Dick smiled,
the sense of himself as something wanted, if not strictly
desired...
It's harder, of course, to remember being able to look at
Dick without seeing all the ways he's never held, never
touched --
If he strains, there's a memory he can grasp to himself:
Dick's stuffed bear, now both worn and packed away, and
the triumph of it. The --
Yes, it was triumph. He'd been able to do nothing about his
own nightmares, the demons which attacked whenever he
tried to rest, but for Dick...
He'd managed that. Small, and -- forgettable. He'd watched
Dick sleep, and didn't --
It was a peace he couldn't live in, of course, but he could
enjoy it from a distance. He had done so, and -- yes. There
had been confidence.
Now --
It had been wonderful, of course, when Dick had decided --
after much debate with himself which Bruce had done his
best not to influence in either direction -- to continue his
education. He had never considered that Dick would leave
Gotham -- and he hadn't.
It's just that he'd also never considered that Dick might leave
the *manor*.
Our home, Dick had said, first and with feeling, and, of
course, by then -- it had been.
*
"I think -- first and foremost, I think I'm in love with all this
*quivering* Babs is doing --"
Quiver -- she'll *give* him quivering. Just -- he -- that
*tongue* --
"I'm not immune to its charm," Bruce says, still with that
perfect, scary, *horny* edge --
Okay, she might have been biting a *lot*, but it's still --
Bruce's thumb feels like a *bit* in her mouth, and she
doesn't even like to play those games unless she's *really*
bored.
"Mostly, though..."
"Yes, Tim?"
"If this is a story about you fucking Dick stupid -- and it
better be..."
Nngh. Still talking mostly *into* her, but it's not really
enough, anymore. She would really, really like to order Tim
to keep *going*, but she can't -- he hasn't really stopped
doing it as opposed to how he's stopped doing it *right* --
it's better that the sound which comes out around Bruce's
thumb is completely unrecognizable, as opposed to --
"God, you -- just your thumb?"
"At the moment, Tim, yes. And you were saying?"
"I -- just hope you're *prepared* to either apologize for not
doing it well enough or for not leaving footage where I
could find it."
Point. Definitely -- Tim's spit is drying where he's licking
*less* now, and it's *cold* and he could at least let her stop
spreading --
"I wasn't aware the two concepts were mutually exclusive
for you."
If Bruce *ever* used that voice on the street -- well, okay,
they'd get nothing done, but neither would the *criminals*.
"Hmm," and Tim squeezes Babs' hips with his hands. "It's
possible I'm feeling magnanimous," and pulls back way too
much -- just a little more than he was before, but still too
*much* --
She can just tell that he's looking at her, watching her --
watching her *flex* --
"Magnanimity would involve you continuing, I believe --"
"*Yes*," she says, forgetting the thumb, and it's not even a
word, it's a wet, lisping *plea* --
They're both looking at her now, she can *feel* it, and she
can't *not* see herself in her own mind, naked and bent
and sweating -- practically *wriggling* --
"You might be right, Bruce. I mean, one good turn and all."
And Tim is... squeezing her again, stroking her cheeks -- she
always shivers when Bruce does it, and he's *not* now, but
she can smell him, taste him when she licks --
When she *breathes* --
"Then do it, Tim. For -- the sake of the tale."
Tim makes a choked noise. "Tale -- oh, that's --"
*Ow*, is what that is --
"-- really too appropriate," Tim says, or she thinks he says.
She --
It's difficult to be sure, considering how much of it was
directed to -- and in -- her ass -- deep, again, *finally* --
and --
"I was... the sort of desperate I believe the both of you have
come to recognize, if not, perhaps, to fully understand..."
*
There was a time when he could rest his hand on Dick's
shoulder without feeling tension, without nearly being able
to *smell* suspicion. It's both clear in his memories and
somewhat improbable --
The difference, perhaps, between the boy and the man.
"Yeah, Bruce?"
Better than 'what is it,' but not by much. "I thought we
might stay in tonight."
"What -- are you? What?"
"I meant -- after you join me -- after patrol."
"Of *course* you meant after patrol, I -- Bruce, I wasn't
planning on going out clubbing or whatever you think I
do -- yes. Staying in. Fine," he says, and --
It's very difficult not to let go. Dick doesn't --
Dick never precisely shrugs *off* Bruce's touch -- he hasn't,
yet -- but there's always the implication of having
misstepped, trespassed --
He is not above the hope that he simply hasn't found the
right *way* to touch Dick, or shown the right degree --
"Bruce, seriously -- what?"
-- of persistence. "Dick..."
"You -- has anyone ever told you that your loom is
*deafening*? That you manage to think hard enough to
make my skin --"
"Synesthesia can be symptomatic of a number --"
Dick catches Bruce's wrist, lifts Bruce's hand off his shoulder,
and holds on.
Humor... humor doesn't appear to have made much of a
difference. There are still other things he can try.
"Sometimes you..." Dick's laugh is humorless. "It doesn't
seem right that I'm not holding on to the gauntlets right
now. Bruce -- what do you want?"
It's a complicated question with a simple answer, especially
once Bruce twists his wrist in Dick's grip and Dick lets go.
"What --"
It's nothing resembling a kiss, in truth. He can't imagine --
This shouldn't be what their *first* kiss is like, he thinks, and
moves away, and Dick's expression is pulled into something
almost like horror, but his eyes are -- mostly -- shocked.
It...
It remains something he can pin *hope* on, even though
there's nothing he can possibly say --
Dick has made it clear that he doesn't want Bruce to *talk*.
And so, this time, Bruce takes the precaution of holding --
gently, but still -- Dick's hands, moving his wrists together --
There was a time when it was impossibly, terrifyingly easy to
hold them both in one hand. Dick has too much power now
to make that effective. Too much strength --
He's beautiful, and perhaps, if he does this *correctly*, Dick
will allow him to *say* it.
Emotionally, it feels as though hours pass between decision
and renewed contact. Dick's lack of verbal response is
difficult to credit, even though Bruce knows he isn't --
He isn't giving Dick time. Not -- not yet.
With his mouth even slightly open, the kiss seems infinitely
softer -- better to the point where Bruce doesn't --
It's necessary to make the kiss deeper, to open Dick's mouth
with his own as gently as he can and (have) taste him. He
hasn't -- he hasn't *done* this. He's waited, so long --
Too long?
He can't -- he can't let himself believe that, yet. There's still
*possibility* here, in the way Dick isn't fighting his grip (too
shocked), and the way he *allows* this. Perhaps --
Bruce has only ever wanted Dick's happiness here, with
*him* -- no, he won't lie on top of everything else. Bruce
has only ever wanted *everything*, and has always been
willing to settle for everything Dick would give him. If this
is one of those things --
He has to know. And so he releases Dick's hands and cups
his waist, instead. He still feels he's moving too slowly,
painful and ridiculous, but when he curls his fingers to
make the way he's holding Dick something better,
something closer to what he *wants* --
Dick's moan is fervent and *loud* into Bruce's mouth. It's --
is it surprise? He can't quite --
He needs more *evidence*, and --
He'd meant to move slower, be more -- he'd meant to *ask*,
if only with his touches, and he can't quite remember the
motion or even the *idea* to yank Dick against his body --
He wants to *thank* Dick for slowly but thoroughly training
him out of the habit of wearing the uniform at all possible
times. They have only fabric between them, thin and
fragile --
Dick is warm, wonderful against him, tall and lithe -- perfect.
His body, the taste of him --
Even the feel of him shaking his head and pushing *off*.
His body can't help but catalogue the feel of it -- strong
arms between them, the bump of Dick's knees below his
own, the brief and tantalizing taste of Dick's *cheek* before
they're separated.
"Dick --"
"*Bruce* -- you -- *this*?"
Yes.
"*This* is what you -- you want?"
*Yes*. "I want you, yes. I've wanted you for --"
"Don't! Don't -- don't tell me that, I -- I can't *think* about
that --"
"Then don't," he says, feeling lost -- feeling *little* but his
own body, and everywhere he's no longer touching and
being *touched*.
"You... Bruce," Dick says, and he's shaking his head --
He licks his lips and shivers, shudders -- "Let me," Bruce
says. "Let me show you this -- this one thing more."
"More. You..."
It's difficult to be sure, in any way, and also to be sure if
Dick is aware of the way he's touching his own mouth. Dick
is *staring*, but not at Bruce...
Is he remembering every touch? The way Bruce has looked
at him -- *on* him.
When Bruce takes a step closer, Dick takes a step *back*.
"Please," Bruce says, and raises his hand.
"We -- we can't. Bruce --"
"We *can* --"
"Just --" Dick laughs again, and it's better. There's
foundation within it.
There's something -- it's *Dick*, and his laughter has always
been so very --
"Just like that? Ten years and now you --"
"When you've touched yourself, Dick... have you ever
thought of me?"
He has. He -- he's called Bruce's *name*, but he'd been so
young then. He'd been so...
"I've thought of you, Dick. Dreamed and -- and waited. I
need you to *know* --"
"I *know*," Dick says, "And -- you know, too. Of course --
we've always. You were the only thing I *had*."
Another reason to deny himself -- both of them. He'd never
wanted to hold Dick *back*, or away from any of the things
he might desire -- he knows he is possessive.
With Dick --
With Dick he might've been terrible. But not... not now. Dick
has Barbara now (they both do -- *Batgirl*), and his studies,
his hobbies -- "You're not the boy you were then."
"No, I'm -- and that makes it okay? It makes everything
*okay*? God fucking *dammit*, Bruce --"
He's expecting to be scolded for his language -- he cuts
*himself* for it, but -- no. This is the closest they've come to
truly *speaking* for months. Everything. Bruce will take
*everything*.
"It... oh my God, it really does. All bets are off, no more
rules, no more -- I could feel you *watching* me, damn
you!"
This time, when he steps forward, Dick stays where he is,
and -- eyes him. Catalogues?
His eyes, his legs, his face, his hands. Yes, he wants to say.
Just -- and only -- yes.
Calling his name would mean the same. It's... there's a
beauty to this, too. This *moment*, when he begins to
know confidence again, to know something close to *faith*
in the way Dick's hands shake, the way he clenches them --
relaxes --
"Dick."
"I --"
Dick's kiss is a brutal, noisy thing -- passionate and maybe --
As lost as he is?
Dick is his body in all ways, and at all times: Dick's knee digs
in against Bruce's hip, his hands tug and yank restlessly at
Bruce's hair, his hips jerk *hard* against him -- once --
"Oh -- oh fuck, oh *no* --"
"Language," Bruce says, and it's a meaningless growl, a joke.
He wants *more* -- and Dick gives it to him, pushing and
yanking at Bruce's clothes, biting his lip --
Bruce bites back and Dick *shakes*.
This, he thinks, yes and *ever* this, it's --
It's *understanding*, finally and again. They --
They can be gentle with each other some other time.
Perhaps --
Catharsis when he drops to his knees, when Dick is more
than fast enough -- *smart* enough to catch his hands
before Bruce can undo him, open him --
When Dick squeezes and slaps Bruce's hands away only to
work on his fly himself, quick and deft --
Another moan, and one day, Bruce promises himself, he'll
know if it's the cold air of the Cave or just this moment.
There'll be nuance, there'll be comprehension and, perhaps,
*benediction*.
For now, there is the way Dick doesn't lose his balance until
Bruce takes him in his mouth --
And he can stop himself for that, and lay Dick down on the
floor, and take him --
"*Bruce* --"
-- *again*.
Swallow him inside, taste and *move* on him, devour --
He is too *hungry* and Dick is everything he's starved
himself of. His strong hands in Bruce's hair, his long legs
spreading to give Bruce even more *room* --
His curses and his moans, the jagged rhythm of his hips --
lean and scarred, yes, but *sleek* --
Animal, he thinks, and loves, and *wants*.
Every memory of Dick below him, every spar, every hurt he's
spared Dick from with his own body -- it's preview, and it's
crystalline --
No, it's *liquid*, because Dick has stopped breathing, he is
silent and struggling, at turns languid and arrhythmic --
And he spends himself in Bruce's mouth with a gasp, quiet
and --
Too *quiet*, but --
There will be *time*, he promises, and releases Dick.
Watching him breathe, watching him struggle back from
pleasure *Bruce* had given --
When he covers Dick's hands, he is held at *once*, and so
it's necessary to pull him upright, hold him, *touch*.
Bruce finds and re-finds the scars on Dick's back and knows
himself obsessive and -- for this, he can forgive himself.
Moreso when Dick squeezes Bruce's hands and exhales.
And buries his face against Bruce's shoulder.
He -- he can *wait*.
*
"A few hours later," Bruce says, and helps Babs lift her head
*enough* to look at him, "you arrived."
She --
She's too --
Tim's had his thumb *inside* her just -- working it, back and
forth, and she knows what Bruce is *talking* about but she
can't seem to make it *connect* --
"Wait. *Wait*. You mean -- this was *right* before Dick
and Babs were rolling around out here?"
"To be fair... hmm," and Bruce's kiss is slow and *deep*,
tongue replacing thumb, and -- and it makes Timmy go
faster, fuck *harder*, and every time Babs moans, Bruce
licks her *teeth*.
"Seriously, Bruce --"
And Bruce licks her cheek, once, before letting Babs rest her
head on him again. "To be fair, there was first the most
silent and -- *fraught* manipulation of my penis I've ever
experienced. After that, we... worked."
"Yeah, I... I want my apology," Tim says, and licks, quick
and teasing, around *his* thumb.
*She* wants... she doesn't *know*, at this point. She can't
even make the simple math of 'how long has it been since
she's come?' work in her head, and she can't --
"I apologize... for the lack of footage."
She *knows* that she could figure something out about
Bruce, something important and -- and -- deep --
She --
"Tim," Bruce says, and she wants to thank him, kiss him for
it, for the sound as much of the fact, for the sound of him
so close to *growling* --
She can't -- Bruce doesn't even have his thumb in her mouth
anymore, but she still can't do more than grunt and moan
and --
It's all so gentle and she feels so *raw* --
"You have a small but *important* fraction of my attention,
Bruce."
"Pause," Bruce says, and his hands are stroking her sides,
and she -- she's flexing and burning a little around Tim, and
Bruce --
Oh, he moves her so *slowly*, holding her tight against him
with one arm, squeezing her a little, and using the other
hand to -- almost *coax* her into finally straddling both his
thighs --
"God, Bruce, the way this *feels* when you move her --"
"Yes," he says -- *breathes* -- and when Bruce looks at
her...
She knows she looks pleading. She -- she doesn't even want
to *think* about her hair, and thank God she hadn't
reapplied her *makeup* after that shower six years ago --
but.
Bruce's eyes are soft, open and on her --
"Do you want me inside you, Barbara?"
The nice thing about Bruce is that he only wanted to talk
through the *first* time, and all she'd really had to do was
ask him if he actually wanted to talk about Dick. This --
It's room for her to say 'no' as opposed to a space for her
to say 'yes.'
It's room for her to *deal* with the fact that Timmy's
watching but also *doing*. He -- he'd only ever *wanted*
to watch -- or.
It's the only thing he'd ever pushed for, and even then...
"Only if Robin is, too," she says, and Tim actually *gasps*,
and that -- it isn't right. It isn't *right*, so she lets go of
Bruce's shirt (she doesn't know when, but she'd torn the
thing) and reaches back --
And Timmy's right there, holding her, and she doesn't need
to take her eyes off Bruce to know that they're both looking
at him now. Looking to him.
"Batgirl," he says, and "Robin," and it's the voice. Of course
it is. Of course --
It's all of him and it's all of *them* --
And he kisses her first -- it feels like a first -- and he's
stroking her back again -- no. He teases --
Tim's tongue and Bruce's fingers -- she wants *more*, and
she can't keep from growling into Bruce's mouth when he
*makes* Tim pull out -- she *knows* he did, even if he
didn't say anything. Bruce never has to *say* anything, and --
and she can't be *empty* right now, and it's only a little
better when Tim stands up and presses against her back --
He's hard and *wet* against her, and when Bruce stops
kissing her, Tim starts.
It should be strange that it's another one of the kisses that
they don't *do*, but --
They've always been adaptable. They've always had to *be*
adaptable --
And the way Tim's holding her now --
Bruce's *kisses* --
Tim's arms under her own, Tim's hands on her breasts,
rough and *perfect*, and it's a little awkward to get Bruce's
pants undone, but it's mostly just what it always is: how
hard he is, how ready he *always* is --
"Batman," she says, and just strokes him, with one hand
and then the other -- slippery skin and hard *flesh*, and
Tim presses closer to *help*, and Bruce closes his eyes and
makes this noise, soft and just -- *quiet* and still it goes
right through her. He does. He *always* --
And they're shifting again, all of them, but of course it's
mostly *her*, and mostly Bruce *lifting* her --
Tim or maybe --
Guiding Bruce *in*, and it's the same flood of heat and
*perfect* it always is, the same realization that Bruce is still
just that *big*, that it's going to hurt as much as anything
else whenever he decides to take *over*, but first she has
to get him all the way *in* --
"BG --"
"Barbara."
*Yes*, because having Bruce's pants open means being able
to get under his shirt, and from there to the belt he wears
everywhere he *can*. She *knows* Tim has stories about
the medical-grade lubricant in there -- she sure does. And
now --
Now they all will, and it's making her blush because of how
it *feels*. Everything they don't talk about, everything they
don't have to.
Even though she's never done *this* with Robin, even
though it feels like breaking just to put the tube in his hand.
"Babs --"
"*Shh*," she says, because she can't -- Robin has to be sure
about this, and she's too full, too *needy* to do anything to
make him sure but *urge*. Every time she *moves*.
How is Bruce so patient? How does he *ever* wait?
Right now he's just -- he's stroking her face, and using his
fingers to *push* away the frown she can feel and can't do
anything about, only. No, it's not just that. His fingers are
moving too quickly, and the touch is just a little too hard.
Almost --
Maybe almost frantic, because -- oh, she always *forgets*
the loss of control, the way Bruce is always so careful right
up until he isn't. Right --
Every time she *moves* it's worse, and it's better, but now --
Now she can feel Timmy shifting behind her -- kissing her
between her shoulder blades --
*Kissing* her there, ticklish and so *sweet*, even as he
pushes two slick fingers --
In -- *in*, and Timmy *whimpers* --
"Bruce -- Batman, I can feel --"
*She* can feel, both of them and the stretched-out half-
meaningless boundaries of herself -- "Oh, Timmy -- fast,
please, *fast* --"
And *this* kiss is hard enough to make her sob -- no. It's
Timmy, and the noises he's making into her mouth --
And Bruce's hands are on her --
"Robin," he says, and it's an order, a real one. No tease or
request, nothing -- Bruce can't *manage* anything but an
order right now, maybe. Or --
Maybe he really *does* save them up.
It's -- it's just that maybe there's a part of her which *can't*
hang on to this, or live it in anything but moments. Bruce is
too much for that, or maybe she is -- they are. Maybe this is
just like what Bruce has always wanted, and that's why his
hands are shaking on her face, why he feels so tense and
*wonderful* -- she can't *wait* --
"Robin, *please* -- it's --"
Fast and hard, yes, but he's still trying to slick her, he's --
he's not teasing even a little but she can't even *look* at
Bruce anymore. The way he's looking at both of them
*burns*, icy and sharp --
"Please, *please* --"
The noises Tim makes are wonderful -- perfect -- he's so
good, he's so *good*, but it's not enough --
"You *know* -- you know it's better when it *hurts*,
Timmy --"
"Always. Always -- Babs --"
And the only reasons this works are that the couch is tall
and Bruce is *big* -- and Timmy isn't. Robin is small and
bright --
Robin is --
Bruce is spreading her, stretching her more -- *flexing*
inside her and groaning, and it makes Timmy groan, too --
"I -- oh *fuck* -- oh --"
And it's like Timmy's pushing the blush under her skin, into
her face, making her hot, boiling her *inside* --
She's burning and *uncomfortable*, too full, too -- and
shifting makes Tim slip his arms under hers in an actual
half-*nelson* --
"Robin --"
"Sorry, I -- oh Jesus, fuck, Bruce, Babs --"
"*Let* me," Bruce says, and one of them says yes, and it
might be her --
She doesn't *know*, because her body knows what it
*means* when Bruce puts his hands on her hips when he's
already inside her. She's clenching and flexing, and there's
a wet enough rush that she isn't sure this isn't just a new
kind of orgasm -- she's never *sure*.
"I -- I --"
"Like this," Bruce says, and his voice is calm, but his fingers
aren't. His eyes aren't -- his --
He's pulling her up and dragging her *down*, and Timmy
*shouts*, and Bruce is so slow, but Timmy *isn't* --
She --
She should be on her knees, or on her side -- she should be
better for this, more ready --
And having her hands free means she has something to
*bite* when she has to scream --
"Barbara. You -- *yes* --"
"*BG* --"
She -- she's the lucky one.
She's the really, *really* lucky one, only laughing makes her
muscles shift too much, laughing makes her scream *more*,
and they're so --
Bruce and Tim are so far off-rhythm that she can't predict
what's going to come next, what feeling -- pressure or pain
or heat or Tim moving his hands to her shoulders again,
Tim still trying to *pet* her, make this okay --
And -- yes, when she leans forward, and *yes* when she
wraps her free arm around Bruce's neck -- oh, the angle is
so -- she can't tell *what* it is for Bruce, but it makes
Timmy curse again, growl and *fuck*, and now every one
of *his* strokes is long and maddening while Bruce isn't
thrusting so much as grinding against her, into her --
"Fuck, *Babs* --"
And Bruce grunts and squeezes her hips hard, he --
He has to be able to *feel* the way Tim's fucking her, or
him -- both of them, and they're so -- too --
It's good, and it's -- she has just exactly *enough* warning
to grab Bruce by the belt and then she's coming, and
*making* herself come harder, because every time she
flexes she's hurting herself, stretching herself --
She's not sure who's *screaming* anymore, except that it's
not Bruce.
All Bruce is doing is panting, staring -- holding her --
"Tim. *Now*."
Making Tim scream just that much -- is it her? She *can't*,
and she never wants it to stop, and the feel of Tim pulling
out is going to make her *cry* -- except that it only takes a
*second* for Bruce to force her *upright* again, lifting her
and pulling her down, hard and *fast*.
"Babs. Oh fuck, Bruce, I can't *watch* --"
"You *can*," he says, and he sounds almost *angry*, and
she doesn't remember how Timmy had gotten from behind
her to beside Bruce. He's squeezing his own balls like he's
never heard of pain, and he's looking --
He's trying to meet her eyes. She --
Babs does the best she can, and bites her fist until she
tastes blood.
And keeps biting.
*
When she wakes up, it's still dark -- including the television,
finally. It means absolutely nothing, of course, because
she's going to need to recalibrate her *self* before her time
sense is worth anything again.
Still, there's a robe under her head, and that's a start --
Especially because there's a *Bruce* thigh under that. Mm.
Babs shifts enough to maybe gnaw a little --
And stops, because the edge of the couch is *right* there.
When she wriggles her ass -- yep, that's Tim-skin. And
another robe. She's just going to focus on the fact that her
ass-skin is very sensitive and as much of a detective as the
rest of her, as opposed to focusing on the fact that it can
detect... Timmy.
Who, now that she's paying a little more attention, is
wrapped around her very nicely -- politely, even, as his
dick's tucked away -- and somehow managing to breathe
despite being wedged between the back of the couch and --
her ass.
He has special, special Robin powers. And she -- is being
*watched*.
Her detective prowess -- and ability to shift carefully enough
to look up without rolling off -- informs her that it's Bruce,
who has probably *just* been sitting there staring at both of
them for however long it's been since her brain stopped
functioning entirely.
Babs sticks her tongue out at him.
Bruce raises an eyebrow. A *smiling* eyebrow.
"So... exactly how naked were we when Alfred brought the
robes?"
"Exceptionally so," Bruce says. "Lie back down?"
Mm, yeah, but -- also no. "I hate showering just before
patrol, but I really have to. And you should hose Timmy
off."
"He'd only enjoy it," Bruce says.
Babs makes a command decision to not examine the pun,
and starts convincing her body to move in earnest --
And stops, because Bruce's hand is big and hard and in her
hair. She's not ever going to cut it, unless -- no.
Not ever. But -- "Bruce, I don't really want the criminals to
come sniffing after me like dogs."
"Ten minutes," Bruce says. "If you doze, I'll wake you."
Of course he will, because he's Bruce. He probably knew
what time it was down to the second while he was coming
in her. Her thighs are... seriously eugh. "You owe me," Babs
says, and settles back down.
"Of course."
Bruce starts pulling the tangles out of her hair pretty much
immediately, which is going to be a help. After a minute or
so, Timmy laughs in his sleep, low and soft. One of the --
safer laughs. Possibly her ass is therapeutic.
Possibly she's going to be one loopy Batgirl out there tonight.
Possibly --
Possibly she still misses Dick, and the Robin *he* was, and
the way they were almost perfect except when she'd thought
about it too hard. She...
"The first time Robin kissed me, I knew I was never going to
leave Gotham. It should've worked in the other direction,
too."
"My fault," Bruce says. "Not yours."
"It still sucks sometimes, Bruce. You know that."
"I do. But I'm hardly unhappy."
Mm. And --
"Mission accomplished," Timmy says. "Or -- something.
You -- you have to give me the snorkel and let me sleep in
the shower, Bruce. I'm a growing boy."
"All right. But you'll owe me," Bruce says, and tickles Babs'
ear.
Yeah, she's pretty not unhappy, too.
end.
So, obviously, a childhood spent watching sitcoms and the
like may have had a *little* effect on me. I mean, these
guys are family. A very *special* family with explosions
and inappropriate sexual relationships before you even
*leave* canon -- but a family. I wanted schmoopy,
wrong, and heartwarming. How well I did at that... why
don't you tell me?
Other things:
1.Yes, I 'ship Batgirl/Robin. A lot. A lot a lot a *lot*. Don't
judge me!
2. Why yes, you *were* meant to think of that one
particular Good Bit.
3. When I believe in BBeyond canon, *that* is, I think, the
real story behind why Clark had Starro stuck to him for
so damned long.
4. Mildred informed me that Clark and Kara *aren't*
cousins in toon!canon, but, well... I didn't have the heart
to change it. Apparently, I like things to be wrong! Who
knew?
5. I think what messes with me the most is that Dick is
perfectly happy in his own private elsewhere. Oh,
toon!Dick. You are *challenging*.