(no subject)
Author: aflaminghalo
Fandom: Batman
Character: Batgirl
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 499
“Take the bike, Batgirl and meet us there.”
That’s all he says about it, but when Barbara looks at the bike sitting on the plinth, she knows that no one else will ever drive it. It’s too light for the boys, or, rather, their bikes are too heavy, too tall, too cumbersome. But this one, this sleek, dark machine, this is for her. She runs one gloved finger along its back - from the cool metal top of the tank to the end of the leather seat. And she loves it immediately.
She rides it everywhere, learning a new map of Gotham, creating new routes to victory, finding a new speed to live at. But it’s not until the first time she fires it up out on the interstate, until she really pushes it to its edges and makes it howl, that she realizes how much she loves it.
This is not what Batman had in mind when he set her up with this, she’s sure. It’s not what she was looking for either. But sometimes when she’s racing down Aparo and the wind bites through her costume, making her nipples scream, and the engine’s hot and throbbing between her legs, when she's throbbing between her legs, the white noise of the wind outside her helmet resolving into music only she can hear…
Riding a motorbike is not like driving a car. She can’t sprawl, or lie down on the backseat, exhausted. There’s no seatbelt holding her up, making a vague promise of safety; no metal cage surrounding her, containing her.
She leans to contain the bike -leaning into it, into the speed, into the turns; pressing her body along it, trapping it down between her thighs in case it tries to get away like a wild horse, a wild lover, until that perfect moment when the barriers between them disappear.
It always tries to get away.
She won’t let it though, she presses it close and cuts it loose, waiting for the vibrations to hit just the right frequency and the way her body responds to it - nipples tightening, her pussy on the edge of a flood. Revving her body the way she revs the bike. She doesn’t always make it home either, before she has to stop, before she has to pull over in a deserted spot, before she has to squeeze her hand inside her pants and roll her clit between her fingers, burying them up inside her, trying to feed the ache there, trying to keep herself feeling as wild and loose as she does on the bike.
Sometimes she thinks about inviting Robin along for a ride, about how she might feel him, warm and heavy on her back and made just as impatient by the bikes rumblings as she is. How they might have to find some quiet, shadowy spot too.
It's a nice thought, one she toys with often. She won't do it though, her bike's only made for one.
Fandom: Batman
Character: Batgirl
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 499
“Take the bike, Batgirl and meet us there.”
That’s all he says about it, but when Barbara looks at the bike sitting on the plinth, she knows that no one else will ever drive it. It’s too light for the boys, or, rather, their bikes are too heavy, too tall, too cumbersome. But this one, this sleek, dark machine, this is for her. She runs one gloved finger along its back - from the cool metal top of the tank to the end of the leather seat. And she loves it immediately.
She rides it everywhere, learning a new map of Gotham, creating new routes to victory, finding a new speed to live at. But it’s not until the first time she fires it up out on the interstate, until she really pushes it to its edges and makes it howl, that she realizes how much she loves it.
This is not what Batman had in mind when he set her up with this, she’s sure. It’s not what she was looking for either. But sometimes when she’s racing down Aparo and the wind bites through her costume, making her nipples scream, and the engine’s hot and throbbing between her legs, when she's throbbing between her legs, the white noise of the wind outside her helmet resolving into music only she can hear…
Riding a motorbike is not like driving a car. She can’t sprawl, or lie down on the backseat, exhausted. There’s no seatbelt holding her up, making a vague promise of safety; no metal cage surrounding her, containing her.
She leans to contain the bike -leaning into it, into the speed, into the turns; pressing her body along it, trapping it down between her thighs in case it tries to get away like a wild horse, a wild lover, until that perfect moment when the barriers between them disappear.
It always tries to get away.
She won’t let it though, she presses it close and cuts it loose, waiting for the vibrations to hit just the right frequency and the way her body responds to it - nipples tightening, her pussy on the edge of a flood. Revving her body the way she revs the bike. She doesn’t always make it home either, before she has to stop, before she has to pull over in a deserted spot, before she has to squeeze her hand inside her pants and roll her clit between her fingers, burying them up inside her, trying to feed the ache there, trying to keep herself feeling as wild and loose as she does on the bike.
Sometimes she thinks about inviting Robin along for a ride, about how she might feel him, warm and heavy on her back and made just as impatient by the bikes rumblings as she is. How they might have to find some quiet, shadowy spot too.
It's a nice thought, one she toys with often. She won't do it though, her bike's only made for one.