[fic] Tell All the Stars (Thrillkiller: Babs/Dick/Selina, porn)
A porny Valentine for my friendslist. Some dear lovely anonymouse gave me candy hearts for my profile page, but since I don't know who it was, everyone gets the gratitude fic. romanyg *also* gave me crunchy love candies, so this is specifically for her, because it features f/f rimming and a reacharound, and a2zmom *also-also*, because Babs/Dick is one of her favorites. Thank you all way more than I say.
<333
Title: Tell All the Stars
Pairings: Babs/Dick, Babs/Selina, Babs/Dick/Selina
Rating: Adult
Setting: Thrillkiller Elseworlds, 1961.
Summary: Babs is undercover, Dick is sulky, and Selina is dancing.
Disclaimer: Chaykin and DC own the characters. I arrange them in filthy positions.
Notes: Title from the Shirelles' "Dedicated to the One I Love". This was originally begun for the femslash_today Valentine's Porn Battle, but Dick was too pretty to leave out. One line by Selina borrowed from pre-Crisis Jason Todd. Beta by the incomparable petronelle.
Dick helps her into the disguise--pinning up her hair, binding her breasts down, buttoning up the shirt. He even tucks 'Zitka', his favorite marital aid, down her girdle for maximum credibility.
He's helpful to a fault; he always is. He manages to keep from pouting until she's almost ready to go. But there he is, leaning against the door, arms crossed and head down, his silky hair falling over his eyes.
"Don't know why I can't come," he says and gnaws at his thumbnail.
"Because, hon, *I'm* going." Babs tugs the tails of her suit-jacket and straightens her tie's knot. With the fedora cocked over one eye, she looks just masculine enough, and plenty sleazy, to pass unnoticed into the Kit-Kat Club. Cupping his cheek and tipping up his chin so his startlingly blue eyes meet hers, she adds, "Now could you let me go?"
"But I'm the guy," Dick protests.
"But *I'm* in charge." Babs laughs, then drops her voice into the register she's been practicing. "And you're *hopeless* at interrogation, you know that."
Dick cracks his knuckles. "I could use the practice."
"Later," she tells him and presses herself against him, tilting her hips a little to brush the dildo's lump against his groin. When she uses the deeper voice, his mouth parts a little. "Later, you can ask me *all* the questions you want."
"Promise?" He still sounds sulky, but his mouth is on her neck, his hand between her legs, pressing the tool against her.
Babs slaps his ass, and then again, before pulling away and opening the door. "Promise, pretty boy. Cross my heart."
*
It's all about the costume. When she's the Bat, she's mean and *fierce*, flying low and striking hard. When she's dolled up as the ditzy heiress, she laughs quicker than champagne and dances all night.
And, now, wearing trousers and tipping her fedora brim to the prettiest girls as she strides down Sprang, she's all man. She's taking up too much space, her arms swinging free, as she adopts Dick's liquid swagger. It's in the hips and jut of the shoulders, Zitka's pressure burning warm between her legs, a cock of her head and wide grin. It's the confidence that she belongs and can take whatever she wants.
The bouncer at the Kit-Kat waves her in without a second glance. Inside, the room throbs with percussion and wreathes of smoke. She kicks a chair out from a table near the front and drops in, legs splayed, one elbow on the chair's back. The round waitress with a helium voice takes Babs' order and returns with a whiskey sour. One eye on the girl's *pneumatic* tits, she knocks it back in three gulps and orders another. She tips well and gets a peck on the cheek, a roll of bosom against her arm.
"Keep the change, honey," Babs mutters and scans the room.
The crowd seems fairly typical -- not that she's ever been in a place like this before as anything other than the Bat, kicking over tables and breaking glass. Their eyes are empty, fastened on the stage where a skinny blonde is shimmying with a large marabou scarf. The girl's mouth is plastered with cheap red paint, turned up in a sad smile, and there's a bruise over her rib cage only partially concealed by her black, bullet-pointed brassiere.
Babs drums her nails on the table and sips at her second drink. It was Wayne, that officious, uptight drip, who let slip that there were informants at the Kit-Kat. She's having a lot of trouble, however, imagining Wayne ever frequenting this particular room. The stink of smoke and palpable, easy current of vice would smear his white shirtfront and send him running in no time flat.
She chats up the waitress and the two men, shifty-eyed and stubbly, at the next table. No one knows anything about the Garzonas family - of course.
When she returns her attention to the stage, her eyes drawn by the low, appreciative growl of the crowd, Babs has to stifle the urge to sit up straight.
That's what good girls do.
She hasn't been one of those in a very long time.
Still, the sight onstage - a perfectly-built woman, all hips and bosom and long, long legs in black stockings, wearing a *cat* mask - makes Babs feel immediately like an impostor. Like she did back at Miss Porter's, gawky and unkempt and yearning for grace.
Babs knows how to fight, and she knows - thanks to Dick - how to fly, and after a childhood of ballet, ballroom waltzes and tap, she knows how to dance.
But she can't imagine moving like that, like this Cat Woman is now. Her hips sway as she lifts her legs, spins with arms outstretched, drops to her knees and *prowls* the length of the stage. Her ass is full in the tight black shorts, while her legs nearly glow like coal smoke, twisting and kicking.
Babs bites the inside of her cheek, once. She needs to focus.
The Cat Woman tosses her head back as she lifts her hips, knees pressed together, and her throat is long, blushed red under the lights. The effect of the mask is...unsettling, to say the least. Babs knows intimately how secure a mask can make you feel, let you be someone else, someone stronger and more righteous, but she's never really thought about what the mask does to *other* people.
The Cat Woman's eyes are hidden. Her identity has been reformed, away from the purely human, into stylized whiskers and pointed ears. She could be anyone, but she's just *one* figure: the Cat.
Babs finds herself rocking in her chair, against Zitka, squeezing her thighs to the rhythm of the music, to that of the Cat's prowls and kick-turns.
By the time the Cat paws once at the air, turns on her heel, and sashays offstage, the crotches of both Babs' panties and girdle are soaked and Zitka is nestled between her inner lips. It's difficult to breathe against the bandages on her chest, and her nipples are sore, achingly trapped there.
She has not been with a woman since last spring's Humane Society Garden Party, which she hosted - under duress - at the manor. Generally, being with Dick takes care of her various, and variable, needs - his hair's as silky as a girl's, his mouth just as talented, while he's also more than willing to roll onto his back and let her ride him until she collapses. But that day, he was out in the barn, fixing his motorcycle while Babs played good little DAR member and nearly died of boredom.
So when she ducked into the cool shadows of the hedge-maze, leaving behind the click of croquet mallets and pealing laughter of idiot women, she wanted only to have a good couple sucks on one of Dick's Lucky Strikes and several swigs from her flask.
She didn't expect to be followed by a buxom brunette with wide, flashing green eyes and a throaty voice that passed right through Babs' light frock and into the center of her spine.
"Selina," the woman said, kicking off her petal-pink espadrilles and sitting on the grass. "You must be Barbara Gordon."
Only her dear jerk of a father gets to call her that. Babs hid her scowl as she sank down next to Selina. "So they say."
Selina clasped her arm and reached for the flask. She drank like a pro, red tongue catching a drop in the corner of her lush smile, then tipped her face back to the slanting sun. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Everyone has," Babs said and finished her drink.
Selina waved her hand. "I couldn't care less about *that* -" She made 'that' sound precisely as insignificant as Babs would have liked the gossip and innuendo to be. She turned a slowly widening smirk on Babs and nudged her gently in the ribs. "- I was referring to your charitable contributions."
"Oh," Babs said and wished for another cigarette. Dick was the lost puppy with a fondness for other strays; she simply signed the checks. "Those."
"Your...reputation -" When Selina emphasized the word, Babs felt momentarily just like Batgirl, fierce and indomitable, and she shivered. "- doesn't hurt my interest, of course."
"I don't think we've met," Babs said and swallowed against the taste of tar and sourmash. When in doubt, retreat to courtesy and etiquette. "How is that?"
Selina laughed as she shifted, her dress's skirt murmuring against her petticoats as she rubbed one bare foot down the length of Babs' shin. "Oh, I get around. Here and there, you know."
"And what brings you *here*?"
"Mmm," Selina said and looked away, her dark lashes shadowing her pale cheek. "Mother always said I was curious as a cat."
"Is that so?" Babs asked, the whiskey's burn spreading fast and deep inside her, her hand cupping Selina's far cheek, turning her until their eyes met again.
Selina's kiss came like something inevitable, hot pressure on Babs' mouth, her skirt swishing as she swung her leg over Babs' thigh, knee pressing between Babs' legs. Babs reclined against the hedge, the branches prickling at her bare back and carefully-set hair, snagging and keeping her there, and Selina laughed into her mouth, hands on Babs' breasts. She was warm and *moist* beneath the petticoats, thighs tightening under Babs' touch, a moan spilling like water down Babs' neck when Babs cupped her mound and ran her thumb down the center of her panties.
Dick was - *is* - beautiful, and gorgeous, and full of love, and more than Babs could ever dream and want. But Selina's body felt familiar, curves and strength, softness and deep, hot grooves that took Babs' hands, fingers, *mouth* like they were coming home.
When Babs came, Selina thrust three fingers into her mouth to muffle her curses. After they were finished, Selina's cheeks were red, her lipstick smeared clean off, but she straightened her skirt, patted her hair back into place, and gave Babs one last, deep kiss before slipping on her shoes and wandering back to the party.
Babs has not seen her since; the few society friends she's asked have pretended innocence of ever *hearing* the name Selina Kyle.
She swaggers now, fedora pushed back off her forehead, to the back of the club. The Kewpie-cute waitress lets her through the door to the dressing rooms for a couple bucks and the promise to give her a call.
The hallway smells like face powder and female sweat, spilled beer and cigarettes smoked down the filter. Babs sets her jaw, adjusts Zitka, and knocks on the door with the Hallowe'en cat pinned to it.
"Go away," the Cat Woman calls from inside.
"Just a couple questions." Babs deepens her voice when she adds, "Ma'am."
The door cracks open to reveal half the cat mask, a swell of breast, and nothing more. "You vice?"
"Nah, just an admirer." She knocks her shoulder against the door, opens it a bit wider to see the nipped-in curve of waist and flare of hip. "You got a minute?"
"Depends," the Cat says, frowning. "You want to make it worth my while?"
"Baby," Babs mutters, raking her eyes slowly up to the mask's invisible eyes. "I want that *bad*."
The Cat snorts, but unlocks the chain and lets Babs in. She leans against the door after it's closed, one hand on her hip, the other extended out like a ballerina's, cigarette dangling. "So, Mr. -"
"Malone, call me Malone." Babs kicks out the rickety chair from the small vanity and straddles it backwards. "Nice show."
The Cat takes a drag and exhales through her nose. "Uh-huh."
"I mean it."
"Right." The Cat crosses the tiny room quickly and perches on the edge of the vanity. She plants one high-heeled foot on the chair's rung, level with Babs' flattened breasts, then digs the shoe's sharp toe into Babs' chest. "Big fan, I take it?"
"Something like that," Babs says and leans into the touch. "Wondered, too, if you've heard anything about a Spaniard, name of Garzonas?"
The Cat lights another cigarette and then bends over her leg, leaning forward until her forehead presses against Babs'. The mask is thick rubber, strange against Babs' skin, probably stranger from inside.
"I hear lots of things, Mr. Malone. Now, my question is - how did you know that?"
Babs coughs and leans away, Zitka slipping just right to nudge her clit. "Friends in common, kitty-cat."
"I highly doubt that."
Babs realizes that Wayne probably doesn't use his real name when he's...*cavorting* with the Cat. As a distraction, she plucks the cigarette from the Cat's fingers and takes a drag before dropping it on the floor and crushing it under her heavy sole. "Real question here is, you in heat?"
The Cat chuckles and pats Babs' cheek. "Haven't heard that one a thousand times."
Babs' blush spreads like a stain over her face. She squares her shoulders, takes a rattling breath, and winks. "Not from me, you haven't."
The Cat laughs throatily and, just like that, she's back in Babs' face, gripping Babs' knee. "You *are* trying hard, I'll give you that."
She doesn't have anything to lose, so Babs scrapes her front teeth down the Cat's sweaty neck as she slides her hand around the tight waist of the costume. "Like to try a lot harder."
The Cat gasps, brief and high, when Babs curls her fingertips under the back of the costume, high on the Cat's ass, against the cleft. "Why don't you, then?"
"Why don't you take off the mask?"
"Why don't *you*?" the Cat asks, right against Babs' ear, and her hand is in Babs' lap, stroking the outline of Zitka. She bites the soft skin behind Babs' ear, adding, "Girlie."
Babs should curse at her cover being blown, grab all the shreds of dignity within reach and flee, do *something*, anything that's not - not this. She rises from the chair, kicking it out of the way and grabbing the Cat's neck, hauling her in, kissing her. Their noses bump painfully, their teeth click together, and the Cat's still laughing at her, but she's *also* wrapping one leg around the back of Babs' knee, clawing at the lump in her crotch and tugging at Babs' suspenders.
She's wild, wilder than Babs can be without having to make an effort, and she's glorious, peeling off Babs' costume and biting her bared skin, unwinding the chest bandages and working her hand under the girdle, toward Zitka and Babs' clit. She's moaning and laughing, shimmying under Babs' hands and searching fingers, her curves filling Babs' palms, her breasts shining under Babs' mouth.
"Now be a good girl," the Cat tells her, righting the chair and positioning Zitka before pulling Babs close. Her trousers are around her knees; they'd be on the floor, but one suspender is still hooked over her shoulder. She fights to free one leg and the Cat laughs harder as she latches her mouth on Babs' nipple and maneuvers her until -. Until she's got her hands on Babs' shoulders, and she's nudging Babs' legs apart, and pushing her down, and down, leaning back to watch Babs sit *on* the dildo, twist her hips and bite her lip as she works it inside herself. The pressure as it fills her is immense, half-burn and half-freezing chill, and she's not sure how Dick *takes* it when she uses it on him.
The Cat rubs Babs' arms, flicking her nipples and holding her breasts, licking at her mouth, until Babs is rocking and moaning. She gives Babs a crooked smile that disappears under the mask before she turns around, bracing her hands on the vanity and thrusting her ass into Babs' face.
It takes forever to work the costume down the Cat's wide hips, longer still to soothe out the red marks its whalebone has left on the white, white skin, but the Cat shudders and whimpers appreciatively, pushing back against Babs' touch. Soon enough, the scent of rubber has left her skin entirely, replaced with sweat and perfume and the taste of Babs' own mouth. Babs rocks hard on Zitka, clenching around it, grinding against her clit, as she cups the full buttocks and parts them. The Cat twists, looking over her shoulder and murmuring something about dirty girls and in over their heads, but she sways and shouts when Babs licks the top of the cleft downward.
And farther down, as she brings her right hand around to the Cat's mound, knuckling over the top of her lips, swirling her tongue and lightly drawing her teeth back and forth over the center of the cleft.
She's going to break the chair, given how fast her hips are snapping and grinding, but not if the vanity doesn't break first under the Cat's white knuckled grip.
The Cat's head thrashes, her pussy soaking Babs' hand, and when Babs pulls back for a breath, she can see the woman in the mirror, face blank, breasts bouncing, a flush glowing pink all over her skin, and she rocks harder, fucking herself deeper, at the sight.
"Jesus *fuck*," the Cat reaches blindly behind her, yanking Babs' shoulder. "More, if you don't give me more, I'll -"
Babs could ask just what, exactly, the Cat plans to threaten her with. She often does with Dick, pulling out of reach, riding the heat building inside, just to see him whimper, watch his face go red and eyes fill with frustrated tears. But the Cat is someone else, someone *different* from Dick, and Babs' lips feel numb and swollen, her tongue thick, as she returns to the small hole, swirled with downy hair, darkly musky and unbearably *soft* inside.
"That's it, right there, oh -" The jars of cosmetics rattle and spill to the floor, the mirror bangs against the wall, and Babs works the tip of her tongue inside the Cat's ass as she teases the front hole with two fingers.
"What the *fuck*?"
That bang was the door, and the room is suddenly flooded with the noise of the club, light from the hall. Babs' head is swimming as she wraps her arm around the Cat's waist, holding her in place, and leans back.
"Get the hell *out*," she's already snarling, but it's Dick, filling the doorway, his undershirt soaked with sweat and chest heaving as if he ran here all the way from the Manor.
He probably did, silly, loveable boy.
"Ba-" He stops when she shakes her head - whether he calls her 'Babs' or 'Batgirl' doesn't matter; the identities are equally sacrosanct - and just gapes at them. "What are you...?"
"Close the door." The Cat twists in Babs' hold and her voice sounds raw as she repeats herself. "Close. The. Damn -"
"All right, all right!" Dick's got both palms up as he kicks the door closed. He comes to a stop in the center of the room, his crestfallen expression all too legible to Babs. "I -"
"You know this punk?" the Cat asks.
"Yeah," Babs says. She fastens her gaze on his flushed face. "Richart, are you in or out?"
Dick responds to his full name, his *family* name, with a shudder. He glances between them, mouth open, then reaches for Babs. "Please, I -"
Love you, was probably the rest of that sentence, but Babs rolls her shoulder out from under his hand and tips her head toward the Cat. "Why don't you make the nice lady feel good?"
He would do anything for her: Babs knows that as surely as she knows Gotham's streets. Dick looks at her beseechingly for several long moments, as her free hand runs up and down the Cat's soft belly, to her breasts, then all the way back down.
The Cat growls, deep in her throat, when Babs plays with her slickly matted hair, tossing her head back, and Babs grins at Dick. "She tastes wonderful. I promise."
Dick seems transfixed by the Cat, slowly edging around in front of her, fingers skimming over her breasts and down her flanks. He touches Babs' sticky hand and briefly laces their fingers together. She squeezes back, then moves her hands back to the Cat's ass, burying her face there, resuming her mouth's work and getting a long, low moan for her effort.
She hears, distantly, the sound of Dick dropping to his knees, then the higher, staticky sound of the Cat moaning against his face. She reaches for Dick, around the Cat's hip, petting his hair and cheek.
Now that he's taken care of, now that the Cat is writhing between them, Babs clenches Zitka and *bounces* as she works her hand down her pants, sliding her clit between her fingers. She brings herself off with the pressure inside her, the taste of the Cat, the sound of Dick's high, panting grunts and the Cat's curses. The orgasm shakes her half off the chair and throws her torso backward, her head thumping the wall. She keeps rubbing, bouncing a little, watching the Cat grab fistfuls of Dick's hair and fuck his face.
She can see the red of his cheek and tilt of his shoulder, and that's all, but he's got one hand on the front of his pants, knuckles rasping against his erection.
When she has her breath back, Babs stands on unsteady legs and moves to their side. Dick tries to look at her, one blue eye rolling wild, but the Cat's got him pinned between one hand and one thigh. On her knees beside them, Babs kisses the Cat's thigh where her stocking is laddered and bats Dick's hand away from his cock.
The Cat's cursing above them, the smell of her sex almost *soporific* as it envelops them, and Babs hugs Dick as close as she can as she undoes his fly and reaches inside.
"She does taste good, doesn't she?" she asks, stroking him firm and sure. Dick shudders against her and the Cat yowls. "You love this, you love sucking girls off, huh?" His cock jumps in her hand and she slides the foreskin up and down tortuously slowly until she's sure he's paying attention. As best he can, at any rate. "Sucking boys off, too, I know."
Dick moans, most of the sound lost between the Cat's legs, but it travels in vibrations through him, into Babs. He thrusts awkwardly into her hand, but Babs holds still until he stops.
The Cat's got one leg up on the vanity now, her free hand moving across her breasts, watching them as she thrusts against Dick's face.
"He's a very sweet boy," Babs says and bites on the Cat's thigh for emphasis. Dick groans again and she gives him several strokes.
"You're telling - *fuck*, right there, keep it *up* -" The Cat bends backward, almost into a handspring, before pushing forward again. "You're telling me. *Jesus*."
"Mmm," Babs says, burying her face in Dick's shoulder, licking at the sweaty fabric and speeding her hand until he's spurting pre-come over her fingers. "He's -"
The Cat's bending forward, arm curled around Dick's neck, crushing him to her as she bounces in her heels. "Got to get me one of these."
Dick's moans are muffled but panicky and Babs hooks her thumb over his cockhead, swirling it around and jerking him fast, until he's coming all over her arm and the Cat is shaking the walls with her screams.
"I'm afraid," Babs says, as Dick sags against her and she kisses him, deep and breathless, then licks the Cat's cream from his cheeks, "he's really one of a kind. Aren't you, sweetheart?"
Dick's lashes are fluttering and he grunts, beseechingly, wrapping his arm around Babs' waist and holding on. She kisses his sweaty hair and runs her hand down his back.
"About Garzonas," she says to the Cat, who's found the chair again, knocking Zitka off it before she collapses and lights a cigarette.
The Cat laughs throatily. "Him? Got some street muscle, last I heard. Local kids from that -" She circles her cigarette, searching for the right word. "Halfway house that Grimm woman runs."
Dick pulls slightly away, working his lips together for a moment before he speaks. "Ma Grimm?"
"And he can speak, too!" The Cat crosses her legs. "Yes, sweetie. Ma Grimm."
"We should go," Dick says urgently, standing up and pulling Babs to her feet. "You know -"
Babs pats his arm until he hushes. "Thanks for the tip," she says to the Cat and extends her hand. Laughing, the Cat nips down on Babs' fingertips, then waves her away.
"You two have a good night," she says and lights another smoke. "Crazy kids."
Babs grins over her shoulder as Dick tries to drag her out the door. "My clothes, honey, I -"
He's so eager to go, he's not even listening to her.
She'd be irritated, but there's always been something infectious about Dick, something heedless and so *foreign* that she can't help but get caught up in it.
Besides, the faster they get home, the faster they can get to bed.
They're in bed, Dick on his hands and knees, begging her to show him what she did to the Cat, when Babs remembers Zitka.
Her hand will have to do until she can send him down to the tobacconist where they get supplies.
Dick doesn't complain; Babs has very skilled fingers. All those piano lessons are finally paying off.
[end]
*
More from the Porn Battle:
Wrapped Up Like Candy, Grace Choi/Mia Dearden, "latex"
Competence and Donuts, Barbara Gordon/Dinah Lance, "stockings"
<333
Title: Tell All the Stars
Pairings: Babs/Dick, Babs/Selina, Babs/Dick/Selina
Rating: Adult
Setting: Thrillkiller Elseworlds, 1961.
Summary: Babs is undercover, Dick is sulky, and Selina is dancing.
Disclaimer: Chaykin and DC own the characters. I arrange them in filthy positions.
Notes: Title from the Shirelles' "Dedicated to the One I Love". This was originally begun for the femslash_today Valentine's Porn Battle, but Dick was too pretty to leave out. One line by Selina borrowed from pre-Crisis Jason Todd. Beta by the incomparable petronelle.
Dick helps her into the disguise--pinning up her hair, binding her breasts down, buttoning up the shirt. He even tucks 'Zitka', his favorite marital aid, down her girdle for maximum credibility.
He's helpful to a fault; he always is. He manages to keep from pouting until she's almost ready to go. But there he is, leaning against the door, arms crossed and head down, his silky hair falling over his eyes.
"Don't know why I can't come," he says and gnaws at his thumbnail.
"Because, hon, *I'm* going." Babs tugs the tails of her suit-jacket and straightens her tie's knot. With the fedora cocked over one eye, she looks just masculine enough, and plenty sleazy, to pass unnoticed into the Kit-Kat Club. Cupping his cheek and tipping up his chin so his startlingly blue eyes meet hers, she adds, "Now could you let me go?"
"But I'm the guy," Dick protests.
"But *I'm* in charge." Babs laughs, then drops her voice into the register she's been practicing. "And you're *hopeless* at interrogation, you know that."
Dick cracks his knuckles. "I could use the practice."
"Later," she tells him and presses herself against him, tilting her hips a little to brush the dildo's lump against his groin. When she uses the deeper voice, his mouth parts a little. "Later, you can ask me *all* the questions you want."
"Promise?" He still sounds sulky, but his mouth is on her neck, his hand between her legs, pressing the tool against her.
Babs slaps his ass, and then again, before pulling away and opening the door. "Promise, pretty boy. Cross my heart."
*
It's all about the costume. When she's the Bat, she's mean and *fierce*, flying low and striking hard. When she's dolled up as the ditzy heiress, she laughs quicker than champagne and dances all night.
And, now, wearing trousers and tipping her fedora brim to the prettiest girls as she strides down Sprang, she's all man. She's taking up too much space, her arms swinging free, as she adopts Dick's liquid swagger. It's in the hips and jut of the shoulders, Zitka's pressure burning warm between her legs, a cock of her head and wide grin. It's the confidence that she belongs and can take whatever she wants.
The bouncer at the Kit-Kat waves her in without a second glance. Inside, the room throbs with percussion and wreathes of smoke. She kicks a chair out from a table near the front and drops in, legs splayed, one elbow on the chair's back. The round waitress with a helium voice takes Babs' order and returns with a whiskey sour. One eye on the girl's *pneumatic* tits, she knocks it back in three gulps and orders another. She tips well and gets a peck on the cheek, a roll of bosom against her arm.
"Keep the change, honey," Babs mutters and scans the room.
The crowd seems fairly typical -- not that she's ever been in a place like this before as anything other than the Bat, kicking over tables and breaking glass. Their eyes are empty, fastened on the stage where a skinny blonde is shimmying with a large marabou scarf. The girl's mouth is plastered with cheap red paint, turned up in a sad smile, and there's a bruise over her rib cage only partially concealed by her black, bullet-pointed brassiere.
Babs drums her nails on the table and sips at her second drink. It was Wayne, that officious, uptight drip, who let slip that there were informants at the Kit-Kat. She's having a lot of trouble, however, imagining Wayne ever frequenting this particular room. The stink of smoke and palpable, easy current of vice would smear his white shirtfront and send him running in no time flat.
She chats up the waitress and the two men, shifty-eyed and stubbly, at the next table. No one knows anything about the Garzonas family - of course.
When she returns her attention to the stage, her eyes drawn by the low, appreciative growl of the crowd, Babs has to stifle the urge to sit up straight.
That's what good girls do.
She hasn't been one of those in a very long time.
Still, the sight onstage - a perfectly-built woman, all hips and bosom and long, long legs in black stockings, wearing a *cat* mask - makes Babs feel immediately like an impostor. Like she did back at Miss Porter's, gawky and unkempt and yearning for grace.
Babs knows how to fight, and she knows - thanks to Dick - how to fly, and after a childhood of ballet, ballroom waltzes and tap, she knows how to dance.
But she can't imagine moving like that, like this Cat Woman is now. Her hips sway as she lifts her legs, spins with arms outstretched, drops to her knees and *prowls* the length of the stage. Her ass is full in the tight black shorts, while her legs nearly glow like coal smoke, twisting and kicking.
Babs bites the inside of her cheek, once. She needs to focus.
The Cat Woman tosses her head back as she lifts her hips, knees pressed together, and her throat is long, blushed red under the lights. The effect of the mask is...unsettling, to say the least. Babs knows intimately how secure a mask can make you feel, let you be someone else, someone stronger and more righteous, but she's never really thought about what the mask does to *other* people.
The Cat Woman's eyes are hidden. Her identity has been reformed, away from the purely human, into stylized whiskers and pointed ears. She could be anyone, but she's just *one* figure: the Cat.
Babs finds herself rocking in her chair, against Zitka, squeezing her thighs to the rhythm of the music, to that of the Cat's prowls and kick-turns.
By the time the Cat paws once at the air, turns on her heel, and sashays offstage, the crotches of both Babs' panties and girdle are soaked and Zitka is nestled between her inner lips. It's difficult to breathe against the bandages on her chest, and her nipples are sore, achingly trapped there.
She has not been with a woman since last spring's Humane Society Garden Party, which she hosted - under duress - at the manor. Generally, being with Dick takes care of her various, and variable, needs - his hair's as silky as a girl's, his mouth just as talented, while he's also more than willing to roll onto his back and let her ride him until she collapses. But that day, he was out in the barn, fixing his motorcycle while Babs played good little DAR member and nearly died of boredom.
So when she ducked into the cool shadows of the hedge-maze, leaving behind the click of croquet mallets and pealing laughter of idiot women, she wanted only to have a good couple sucks on one of Dick's Lucky Strikes and several swigs from her flask.
She didn't expect to be followed by a buxom brunette with wide, flashing green eyes and a throaty voice that passed right through Babs' light frock and into the center of her spine.
"Selina," the woman said, kicking off her petal-pink espadrilles and sitting on the grass. "You must be Barbara Gordon."
Only her dear jerk of a father gets to call her that. Babs hid her scowl as she sank down next to Selina. "So they say."
Selina clasped her arm and reached for the flask. She drank like a pro, red tongue catching a drop in the corner of her lush smile, then tipped her face back to the slanting sun. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Everyone has," Babs said and finished her drink.
Selina waved her hand. "I couldn't care less about *that* -" She made 'that' sound precisely as insignificant as Babs would have liked the gossip and innuendo to be. She turned a slowly widening smirk on Babs and nudged her gently in the ribs. "- I was referring to your charitable contributions."
"Oh," Babs said and wished for another cigarette. Dick was the lost puppy with a fondness for other strays; she simply signed the checks. "Those."
"Your...reputation -" When Selina emphasized the word, Babs felt momentarily just like Batgirl, fierce and indomitable, and she shivered. "- doesn't hurt my interest, of course."
"I don't think we've met," Babs said and swallowed against the taste of tar and sourmash. When in doubt, retreat to courtesy and etiquette. "How is that?"
Selina laughed as she shifted, her dress's skirt murmuring against her petticoats as she rubbed one bare foot down the length of Babs' shin. "Oh, I get around. Here and there, you know."
"And what brings you *here*?"
"Mmm," Selina said and looked away, her dark lashes shadowing her pale cheek. "Mother always said I was curious as a cat."
"Is that so?" Babs asked, the whiskey's burn spreading fast and deep inside her, her hand cupping Selina's far cheek, turning her until their eyes met again.
Selina's kiss came like something inevitable, hot pressure on Babs' mouth, her skirt swishing as she swung her leg over Babs' thigh, knee pressing between Babs' legs. Babs reclined against the hedge, the branches prickling at her bare back and carefully-set hair, snagging and keeping her there, and Selina laughed into her mouth, hands on Babs' breasts. She was warm and *moist* beneath the petticoats, thighs tightening under Babs' touch, a moan spilling like water down Babs' neck when Babs cupped her mound and ran her thumb down the center of her panties.
Dick was - *is* - beautiful, and gorgeous, and full of love, and more than Babs could ever dream and want. But Selina's body felt familiar, curves and strength, softness and deep, hot grooves that took Babs' hands, fingers, *mouth* like they were coming home.
When Babs came, Selina thrust three fingers into her mouth to muffle her curses. After they were finished, Selina's cheeks were red, her lipstick smeared clean off, but she straightened her skirt, patted her hair back into place, and gave Babs one last, deep kiss before slipping on her shoes and wandering back to the party.
Babs has not seen her since; the few society friends she's asked have pretended innocence of ever *hearing* the name Selina Kyle.
She swaggers now, fedora pushed back off her forehead, to the back of the club. The Kewpie-cute waitress lets her through the door to the dressing rooms for a couple bucks and the promise to give her a call.
The hallway smells like face powder and female sweat, spilled beer and cigarettes smoked down the filter. Babs sets her jaw, adjusts Zitka, and knocks on the door with the Hallowe'en cat pinned to it.
"Go away," the Cat Woman calls from inside.
"Just a couple questions." Babs deepens her voice when she adds, "Ma'am."
The door cracks open to reveal half the cat mask, a swell of breast, and nothing more. "You vice?"
"Nah, just an admirer." She knocks her shoulder against the door, opens it a bit wider to see the nipped-in curve of waist and flare of hip. "You got a minute?"
"Depends," the Cat says, frowning. "You want to make it worth my while?"
"Baby," Babs mutters, raking her eyes slowly up to the mask's invisible eyes. "I want that *bad*."
The Cat snorts, but unlocks the chain and lets Babs in. She leans against the door after it's closed, one hand on her hip, the other extended out like a ballerina's, cigarette dangling. "So, Mr. -"
"Malone, call me Malone." Babs kicks out the rickety chair from the small vanity and straddles it backwards. "Nice show."
The Cat takes a drag and exhales through her nose. "Uh-huh."
"I mean it."
"Right." The Cat crosses the tiny room quickly and perches on the edge of the vanity. She plants one high-heeled foot on the chair's rung, level with Babs' flattened breasts, then digs the shoe's sharp toe into Babs' chest. "Big fan, I take it?"
"Something like that," Babs says and leans into the touch. "Wondered, too, if you've heard anything about a Spaniard, name of Garzonas?"
The Cat lights another cigarette and then bends over her leg, leaning forward until her forehead presses against Babs'. The mask is thick rubber, strange against Babs' skin, probably stranger from inside.
"I hear lots of things, Mr. Malone. Now, my question is - how did you know that?"
Babs coughs and leans away, Zitka slipping just right to nudge her clit. "Friends in common, kitty-cat."
"I highly doubt that."
Babs realizes that Wayne probably doesn't use his real name when he's...*cavorting* with the Cat. As a distraction, she plucks the cigarette from the Cat's fingers and takes a drag before dropping it on the floor and crushing it under her heavy sole. "Real question here is, you in heat?"
The Cat chuckles and pats Babs' cheek. "Haven't heard that one a thousand times."
Babs' blush spreads like a stain over her face. She squares her shoulders, takes a rattling breath, and winks. "Not from me, you haven't."
The Cat laughs throatily and, just like that, she's back in Babs' face, gripping Babs' knee. "You *are* trying hard, I'll give you that."
She doesn't have anything to lose, so Babs scrapes her front teeth down the Cat's sweaty neck as she slides her hand around the tight waist of the costume. "Like to try a lot harder."
The Cat gasps, brief and high, when Babs curls her fingertips under the back of the costume, high on the Cat's ass, against the cleft. "Why don't you, then?"
"Why don't you take off the mask?"
"Why don't *you*?" the Cat asks, right against Babs' ear, and her hand is in Babs' lap, stroking the outline of Zitka. She bites the soft skin behind Babs' ear, adding, "Girlie."
Babs should curse at her cover being blown, grab all the shreds of dignity within reach and flee, do *something*, anything that's not - not this. She rises from the chair, kicking it out of the way and grabbing the Cat's neck, hauling her in, kissing her. Their noses bump painfully, their teeth click together, and the Cat's still laughing at her, but she's *also* wrapping one leg around the back of Babs' knee, clawing at the lump in her crotch and tugging at Babs' suspenders.
She's wild, wilder than Babs can be without having to make an effort, and she's glorious, peeling off Babs' costume and biting her bared skin, unwinding the chest bandages and working her hand under the girdle, toward Zitka and Babs' clit. She's moaning and laughing, shimmying under Babs' hands and searching fingers, her curves filling Babs' palms, her breasts shining under Babs' mouth.
"Now be a good girl," the Cat tells her, righting the chair and positioning Zitka before pulling Babs close. Her trousers are around her knees; they'd be on the floor, but one suspender is still hooked over her shoulder. She fights to free one leg and the Cat laughs harder as she latches her mouth on Babs' nipple and maneuvers her until -. Until she's got her hands on Babs' shoulders, and she's nudging Babs' legs apart, and pushing her down, and down, leaning back to watch Babs sit *on* the dildo, twist her hips and bite her lip as she works it inside herself. The pressure as it fills her is immense, half-burn and half-freezing chill, and she's not sure how Dick *takes* it when she uses it on him.
The Cat rubs Babs' arms, flicking her nipples and holding her breasts, licking at her mouth, until Babs is rocking and moaning. She gives Babs a crooked smile that disappears under the mask before she turns around, bracing her hands on the vanity and thrusting her ass into Babs' face.
It takes forever to work the costume down the Cat's wide hips, longer still to soothe out the red marks its whalebone has left on the white, white skin, but the Cat shudders and whimpers appreciatively, pushing back against Babs' touch. Soon enough, the scent of rubber has left her skin entirely, replaced with sweat and perfume and the taste of Babs' own mouth. Babs rocks hard on Zitka, clenching around it, grinding against her clit, as she cups the full buttocks and parts them. The Cat twists, looking over her shoulder and murmuring something about dirty girls and in over their heads, but she sways and shouts when Babs licks the top of the cleft downward.
And farther down, as she brings her right hand around to the Cat's mound, knuckling over the top of her lips, swirling her tongue and lightly drawing her teeth back and forth over the center of the cleft.
She's going to break the chair, given how fast her hips are snapping and grinding, but not if the vanity doesn't break first under the Cat's white knuckled grip.
The Cat's head thrashes, her pussy soaking Babs' hand, and when Babs pulls back for a breath, she can see the woman in the mirror, face blank, breasts bouncing, a flush glowing pink all over her skin, and she rocks harder, fucking herself deeper, at the sight.
"Jesus *fuck*," the Cat reaches blindly behind her, yanking Babs' shoulder. "More, if you don't give me more, I'll -"
Babs could ask just what, exactly, the Cat plans to threaten her with. She often does with Dick, pulling out of reach, riding the heat building inside, just to see him whimper, watch his face go red and eyes fill with frustrated tears. But the Cat is someone else, someone *different* from Dick, and Babs' lips feel numb and swollen, her tongue thick, as she returns to the small hole, swirled with downy hair, darkly musky and unbearably *soft* inside.
"That's it, right there, oh -" The jars of cosmetics rattle and spill to the floor, the mirror bangs against the wall, and Babs works the tip of her tongue inside the Cat's ass as she teases the front hole with two fingers.
"What the *fuck*?"
That bang was the door, and the room is suddenly flooded with the noise of the club, light from the hall. Babs' head is swimming as she wraps her arm around the Cat's waist, holding her in place, and leans back.
"Get the hell *out*," she's already snarling, but it's Dick, filling the doorway, his undershirt soaked with sweat and chest heaving as if he ran here all the way from the Manor.
He probably did, silly, loveable boy.
"Ba-" He stops when she shakes her head - whether he calls her 'Babs' or 'Batgirl' doesn't matter; the identities are equally sacrosanct - and just gapes at them. "What are you...?"
"Close the door." The Cat twists in Babs' hold and her voice sounds raw as she repeats herself. "Close. The. Damn -"
"All right, all right!" Dick's got both palms up as he kicks the door closed. He comes to a stop in the center of the room, his crestfallen expression all too legible to Babs. "I -"
"You know this punk?" the Cat asks.
"Yeah," Babs says. She fastens her gaze on his flushed face. "Richart, are you in or out?"
Dick responds to his full name, his *family* name, with a shudder. He glances between them, mouth open, then reaches for Babs. "Please, I -"
Love you, was probably the rest of that sentence, but Babs rolls her shoulder out from under his hand and tips her head toward the Cat. "Why don't you make the nice lady feel good?"
He would do anything for her: Babs knows that as surely as she knows Gotham's streets. Dick looks at her beseechingly for several long moments, as her free hand runs up and down the Cat's soft belly, to her breasts, then all the way back down.
The Cat growls, deep in her throat, when Babs plays with her slickly matted hair, tossing her head back, and Babs grins at Dick. "She tastes wonderful. I promise."
Dick seems transfixed by the Cat, slowly edging around in front of her, fingers skimming over her breasts and down her flanks. He touches Babs' sticky hand and briefly laces their fingers together. She squeezes back, then moves her hands back to the Cat's ass, burying her face there, resuming her mouth's work and getting a long, low moan for her effort.
She hears, distantly, the sound of Dick dropping to his knees, then the higher, staticky sound of the Cat moaning against his face. She reaches for Dick, around the Cat's hip, petting his hair and cheek.
Now that he's taken care of, now that the Cat is writhing between them, Babs clenches Zitka and *bounces* as she works her hand down her pants, sliding her clit between her fingers. She brings herself off with the pressure inside her, the taste of the Cat, the sound of Dick's high, panting grunts and the Cat's curses. The orgasm shakes her half off the chair and throws her torso backward, her head thumping the wall. She keeps rubbing, bouncing a little, watching the Cat grab fistfuls of Dick's hair and fuck his face.
She can see the red of his cheek and tilt of his shoulder, and that's all, but he's got one hand on the front of his pants, knuckles rasping against his erection.
When she has her breath back, Babs stands on unsteady legs and moves to their side. Dick tries to look at her, one blue eye rolling wild, but the Cat's got him pinned between one hand and one thigh. On her knees beside them, Babs kisses the Cat's thigh where her stocking is laddered and bats Dick's hand away from his cock.
The Cat's cursing above them, the smell of her sex almost *soporific* as it envelops them, and Babs hugs Dick as close as she can as she undoes his fly and reaches inside.
"She does taste good, doesn't she?" she asks, stroking him firm and sure. Dick shudders against her and the Cat yowls. "You love this, you love sucking girls off, huh?" His cock jumps in her hand and she slides the foreskin up and down tortuously slowly until she's sure he's paying attention. As best he can, at any rate. "Sucking boys off, too, I know."
Dick moans, most of the sound lost between the Cat's legs, but it travels in vibrations through him, into Babs. He thrusts awkwardly into her hand, but Babs holds still until he stops.
The Cat's got one leg up on the vanity now, her free hand moving across her breasts, watching them as she thrusts against Dick's face.
"He's a very sweet boy," Babs says and bites on the Cat's thigh for emphasis. Dick groans again and she gives him several strokes.
"You're telling - *fuck*, right there, keep it *up* -" The Cat bends backward, almost into a handspring, before pushing forward again. "You're telling me. *Jesus*."
"Mmm," Babs says, burying her face in Dick's shoulder, licking at the sweaty fabric and speeding her hand until he's spurting pre-come over her fingers. "He's -"
The Cat's bending forward, arm curled around Dick's neck, crushing him to her as she bounces in her heels. "Got to get me one of these."
Dick's moans are muffled but panicky and Babs hooks her thumb over his cockhead, swirling it around and jerking him fast, until he's coming all over her arm and the Cat is shaking the walls with her screams.
"I'm afraid," Babs says, as Dick sags against her and she kisses him, deep and breathless, then licks the Cat's cream from his cheeks, "he's really one of a kind. Aren't you, sweetheart?"
Dick's lashes are fluttering and he grunts, beseechingly, wrapping his arm around Babs' waist and holding on. She kisses his sweaty hair and runs her hand down his back.
"About Garzonas," she says to the Cat, who's found the chair again, knocking Zitka off it before she collapses and lights a cigarette.
The Cat laughs throatily. "Him? Got some street muscle, last I heard. Local kids from that -" She circles her cigarette, searching for the right word. "Halfway house that Grimm woman runs."
Dick pulls slightly away, working his lips together for a moment before he speaks. "Ma Grimm?"
"And he can speak, too!" The Cat crosses her legs. "Yes, sweetie. Ma Grimm."
"We should go," Dick says urgently, standing up and pulling Babs to her feet. "You know -"
Babs pats his arm until he hushes. "Thanks for the tip," she says to the Cat and extends her hand. Laughing, the Cat nips down on Babs' fingertips, then waves her away.
"You two have a good night," she says and lights another smoke. "Crazy kids."
Babs grins over her shoulder as Dick tries to drag her out the door. "My clothes, honey, I -"
He's so eager to go, he's not even listening to her.
She'd be irritated, but there's always been something infectious about Dick, something heedless and so *foreign* that she can't help but get caught up in it.
Besides, the faster they get home, the faster they can get to bed.
They're in bed, Dick on his hands and knees, begging her to show him what she did to the Cat, when Babs remembers Zitka.
Her hand will have to do until she can send him down to the tobacconist where they get supplies.
Dick doesn't complain; Babs has very skilled fingers. All those piano lessons are finally paying off.
[end]
*
More from the Porn Battle:
Wrapped Up Like Candy, Grace Choi/Mia Dearden, "latex"
Competence and Donuts, Barbara Gordon/Dinah Lance, "stockings"