A/N: I'm ashamed of myself (ashamed I tell you!) for taking this long to update. It's scandalous really. You're magnanimous reviews are much appreciated and have spurred me on to finishing this little tale. And is everybody else cheering for Babs to be back in the Batgirl suit? The general dubiousness of reboots aside, it might be worth it just for that.
Chapter 11
Bruce didn't do emotions. While he would readily admit that he cared for Alfred and the boys-perhaps even that he loved them-the finer details of those feelings went unexamined. He accepted his responsibility as care taker and protector. He didn't shirk away from the necessary conversations about teenage love and safe sex when the time came-conversations he should have had again with himself apparently. He had never in his life been as careless as he had been with Barbara, not even with Selina. That by itself was evidence that their…personal…interactions had to stop. He couldn't blame her. He simply couldn't stay detached enough when he was with her. He never considered how much his inability to detach scared him; that she made him want things, things like conversation and sharing, were merely signs of his tiredness. That episode with the Lazarus pit had emotionally exhausted him and this urge to see her and talk to her, to throw himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness, was merely a side effect. They had had sex. Because of her role as Batgirl he couldn't cut her off has he had previous sexual partners, and the overlap of his two worlds was the cause of this discomfort he seemed to be feeling since she walked out of the cave.
Rubbing his chest Bruce drank the milk Alfred had left by his elbow hours ago in one swallow. His heartburn seemed to flare up whenever his thoughts wandered to Barbara, and his thoughts seemed to wander to her far more than he was comfortable with. He hadn't talked to her, hadn't seen her, hadn't so much as peeped in her apartment for weeks now. He still wasn't talking with Dick and he guessed the two had rekindled their relationship in his absence. It wasn't a thought he dwelled on long.
The glass shattered in his hand, shards clinking into metal grate as droplets of milk coated his hand. Blood welled on his palm and he absentmindedly pulled pieces of glass from his skin. Was Dick over there now? With her? His cock swelled painfully as he remembered the feel of her weight on his hips, the way her breasts moved as she rode him. Gripping the chair his hips bucked against his will as the smell of her washed over him. He clenched his bloodied left hand, pushing slivers of glass deeper into his palm; the pain only seemed to make his arousal worse, though, and he threw his head back and groaned as he remembered the way she would bite his shoulder when she came, convulsing around him and unable to stay quiet.
Frantically, powerless to fight it, he pulled himself free roughly with his right hand and started stroking his erection. He was already wet at the tip and he tried to slow down wanting the vision of her on him right now straddling the chair, her body engulfing his in wet warmth, to last. His blood pounded in his ears and his breath sawed in and out of him as his arm, oblivious to his brain's command to slow, pulled at him unrelenting. He could feel the pebble of her nipple on his tongue as he suckled her, the constriction around his hips as her strong legs clamped onto him. The pressure built as his cock tightened, the length going so rock hard he threw his head back into the chair aware of nothing but his need to release. So close-he was so close. Barb's fingernails in his back, the column of her throat as she threw her head back, the way her body almost choked him when she came-he groaned through gritted teeth as he began to spurt, not slowing his hand, his orgasm seeming to go on and on.
His left hand fell limp, hanging from the chair, as the blood and milk residue dripped to the floor. His right hand still held his softening dick, the mess of his release unseen through his closed eyes. He couldn't keep doing this; he could not keep letting himself be controlled by these fantasies of her. Even as he told himself never again, he felt another erection harden in his hand. Unwilling to open his eyes, he was powerless to stop the movement of his hand as it began stroking in time with the visions of Barbara's undulations behind his eye lids.
Three days later Bruce knew he was going to have to sleep soon. He had begun holding out until he was literally too exhausted to dream soon after he last saw Barbara. The dreams were worse then the fantasies; in the dreams he actually felt things and not just her body. In the dreams they would talk; he would hold her, reveling in the sensation of her body wrapped perfectly around his. The last time he woke up wet, covered not only in ejaculate, but with tears streaming down his cheeks. They had been in the cave during the last time he had seen her-had touched her. As she stood up he begged her not to go; he had promised her he would try harder, that he would make time for her in his life.
She had looked at him and sneering said, "You will never be good enough for me. You couldn't protect me from the Joker. You couldn't even figure out how to heal me. Why didn't you save me Bruce?" As she left him he had known, known, that she was going to Dick's bed-that she was going to give her love, whole-heartedly and unconditionally, to Dick. He had screamed to drown out the sounds of her laughter as she walked away.
That was the last time he had slept for more than three hours.
He had allowed himself a few micro naps over the last three days, but never enough that his mind fully left a state of complete exhaustion. As he drove through the city he was nursing several bad bruises and cuts from Killer Croc; his reaction time had been dangerously slowed and he had very nearly gotten killed tonight. Killed by the Killer Croc-pathetic. This had to stop.
Ripping the wheel to the side he screeched to a halt in an alley and shot the grappling gun before he was even fully out of the car. Ordering it to lock as he flew into the air he took off over rooftops, refusing to examine his actions too closely. He stopped at the edge of the roof across from her balcony. He could jump over there and knock on her patio door; he could let himself in and throw her up against the wall of her living room and be inside her before either one of them had a chance to think through it. Raising his binoculars he found her sitting on the couch, her wet hair curling around her face as it dried. She had on a Rush t-shirt, and he could see her long legs stretched out over the coffee table. Was she wearing a bra? Reaching down to his belt he began putting the gun away, his legs tensing as he prepared to jump the space to her balcony. He froze when she rose from the couch and walked to the door. Someone was there, but who at this time of night? Or morning-he supposed most people were getting ready for work by now, but why would any of them be at Barbara's apartment?
His heart stopped as her door opened and she hugged the muscular body on the other side. He knew; he knew before Dick's face came into the light of her lamp and highlighted his lascivious grin as he starred down at Barbara. With a small smile she shut the door and began making tea for the two of them. They were so…comfortable…with each other. There was no awkwardness, no uneasy silences. Dick said something as he sat down on the couch and she laughed easily, stirring the honey as she poured hot water into their glasses.
Using every ounce of his considerable self control Bruce pulled himself away from the cozy scene. He wanted to hurt Dick. He wanted to do more than hurt Dick. Scared of his unacknowledged possessiveness even more than his rage he focused his mind on getting back to the cave. Heaven help whoever got in his way.
