Summary: Freud once said that a tree couldn’t reach heaven unless its roots were deep enough to touch the depths of hell.
After patrol, Barbara helps Bruce find release.
Work Text: Freud once said that a tree couldn’t reach heaven unless its roots were deep enough to touch the depths of hell. Some of the best cops from GCPD , the kind that would have a retirement party in a church basement , before they moved somewhere warm… ended up somewhere else. They’d quit and stock shelves at a local pantry. They’d try to start their own coffee shop that their own would boycott. They’d hit the bottle and a half bottle of pain pills.
These were good men. They just looked into the darkness and tried to understand it. But the darkness was to be understood.
She’s heard the rumors by now. That she held onto a childish crush and had to experience Bruce for herself. The crazy fangirl.
None of that was wrong.
But there were nights like this. Ones that were supposed to be normal. Where she saw Bruce staring at a corner of the cave. Wondering if there was even a point.
Freeze killed four people. Bystanders trying to get home after Salsa dancing. Two of them had kids. Who went to bed thinking that Batman kept everyone safe.
Bruce doesn’t drink. He won’t turn evil. But she’s seen him when his soul dies.
Still in uniform, Barbara takes a shot of peppermint vodka. She’s taken a punch in the face countless times. But alcohol still makes her wince.
The point isn’t to get drunk. It’s to silence the dark thoughts and just focus on what she came down to do.
Mask off, Bruce has his legs spread. He looks up at her. She can see the pain in his face.
“I’m spending the night.” Barbara said.
“I just need to be alone.” Bruce said.
“You’ve had plenty of nights alone, Bruce. Twenty years of them. I’m here because you need to let it go.” Barbara said.
He says nothing. His jaw barely moves.
“Fuck me,” Barbara says. Careful. Steady. Low.
Sex and PTSD aren’t recommended. But neither is dressing up like a Bat and trying to do police work without deadly weapons.
She peels down the bottom half of her costume. Kicking the leggings down to her feet.
“Fuck me. What’s the worst that can happen? You’ll feel better while looking into the abyss after?” Barbara said.
This isn’t pity sex. She’s wet underneath her pink, bikini cut panties. The spandex kind that he liked. Just him looking her over, arms crossed, waiting to see her pull her top off.
“I want you to take off the rest.” Barbara said.
Bruce rises from his chair. Slowly he steps up to her. Eyeing her athletic body. Her bruises from last week had healed. He knew he could touch her now.
Batman feels the hem of her top, the roughness of his hands feel amazing as the shirt slides off. He’s massaging her body now. First her back. Then her ribs. She swallows, her hips involuntarily lift up a bit. He peels off his leather gloves. And his hands are warm.
Now it’s just her mask, panties, and bra.
He points to the chair and she sits in it. It’s warm from his body. Smells like his sweat and Gotham. She doesn’t mind.
She looks down her body. He’s just focused on her face. Her mind races back to her early memories of him. Talking to her father on the rooftop. She was scared of him then. Now, as his eyes deepen into hers, he places his hand onto her wrist pushing her arm over her head. His smell is unquantifiable. Masculine. Hormonal.
His other hand travels lower, palming her pert breasts. Her nipples hardened underneath her sports bra. His thumb finds a way to pull down the bra. She moans and nods, craving skin on skin. Her legs spread in his chair. She wants him closer, so she can feel if he’s hard.
They don’t kiss. But his mouth finds a way onto her. And it’s bliss. First her jaw. Then her neckline. She bites her own lip in pleasure. Perhaps too hard. If they make out he’ll taste her blood.
Memories. Thoughts. Feelings. They all begin to fade out. She can’t tell if she took off her bra or Bruce did. But his mouth travels for her nipple. Her pussy is wet. Almost hitting that uncomfortable stage of foreplay. She reminds herself that this is about him finding release.
Tits comforting Bruce. Like he’s a baby.
Almost knowing that he’s being greedy, he presses the heel of his hand between her crotch. She’s already left a spot in the batcave computer chair. She shudders at the thought of Alfred or Tim sitting in it and smelling her.
He pulls down her panties. His thumb grazing over her pubic hair before trying to find the clit. She wiggles too much for him to stay on it but she yelps a bit in pleasure. She just wants to feel pressure against his warm skin.
“Keep licking.” she gasps. “Just let me grind.”
“No, Batgirl.”
Her eyes are big and glassy. He begins to remove his costume. First the shirt. Then the pants. He’s still in his black athletic briefs but he’s hard. Grabbing her thighs he spreads her under he can settle between her legs.
She crashes into him. It’s not a gentle kiss. Wet. Tongue filled. Her eyes are closed but she races to his underwear to find a way to pull them down until she can feel his thick warm cock against her thigh.
“This is what you needed, Batman.” she whispers in his ear. Her hand focuses on the soft underside of his cock.
She takes him in her hand, then slowly finding a way to recline the large chair she tilts her head back. “Just shut up and fuck me. That’s an order.”
Her hand lands at the center of his chest. Where the Bat symbol would be if they were in costume.
“Don’t cum until I say you can,” she says. Her voice isn’t as steely as she’d like it to be – too raspy, broken.
Bruce smiles. Shifting his hips as she playfully wipes it against her entrance. They could have easily fucked by now. But she knows this part of the routine. He needs her to be in control. Because he is far from being in control of himself.
She cups his face in her hand. Her red hair is loose. Flowing over both of him. There’s still adrenaline left in them after this shitshow of a night. At somepoint he says her name and they kiss. She isn’t sure if he said “Batgirl” or “Barbara”. She’s so used to both. He knows that Batgirl is his fixation though.
He picks her up like she’s a pillow and sits back in the chair. She can no longer think, as she slides down onto him. He lets out a “Batman” like groan. But it’s not pain. Or pleasure. It’s just relief. They still kiss but he tips his head back.
It feels amazing. But neither are focused on cumming. Hazy look in his eye, Bruce watches as Batgirl puts on the show. She’s riding him hard. It’s like he’s been waiting for this. Not just tonight. But for twenty years. Someone to comfort him.
His hands squeeze into her ass and he moans. A real fucking moan. She feels it fast and rides it out on him. Not caring about the dominance-submission anymore. She lets out a whimper, and a dumb gaze is on her face. Her pussy is now sensitive from the orgasm.
She just nods.
“Batgirl. I need to cum.” he says.
Her nails enter his back and they are tight in his grasp. They mouths join together, and her wet pussy makes a sloppy sound as they find their rhythm. She wants him to cum. But she wants to cum with him.
His lips move over her neck but the cowl prevents contact. Almost forgetting that she had it on, she takes off her mask.
Whatever that did he begins to pound his hips into her more erratically. Kissing her neck. Hand grasping her breasts. Her pussy is clenched around his cock, and they both let out a chorus of profanities mixed with the names of their alter egos.
“Bruce. Batman. I need you to look at me.” she says.
Their eyes meet. She almost regrets having him lose focus.
“Cum for me, now. You deserve it.” she says.
She can see the vein in his throat as he prepares to descend into his own orgasm. “That’s it. I want you to cum in me. I deserve it.”
She feels him pulse inside of her. It’s like a drug. Selfishlessy she just focuses on enjoying every second of her own release as she orgasms with him. They look at each other. Their tension relaxed. Before they enter the silence once again.