Bruce slipped into the Clocktower as easily as ever, even with Helena’s unconscious form in his arms. Usually, he respected Barbara’s privacy enough not to test her security, but he didn’t feel like explaining Helena’s condition to her. Not when it was so obvious.

He’d realized a methods into fucking Helena that her communicator was on, transmitting everything they did to her fellow Birds of Prey. It was… less than optimal… but now that others knew how he was rutting her, Bruce had decided he might as well let them know how thoroughly she’d getting fucked as well. Maybe it would add to Helena’s dominance; knowing that not only was she his bitch, but that all her friends were aware of it as well.

Barbara was at her usual perch, working at the huge Delphi workstation. Three monitors, two keyboards, wires and cables snaking underneath the floor, bunched together in neat symmetry to keep out of the way of her wheelchair’s tires. There was an unpretentious beauty to the redhead. She drove herself even harder than she had as Batgirl, keeping her muscles toned and tight under clear, freckled skin. She dressed simple: slacks, a tanktop, and high heels—Bruce felt a swell of amusement at the wondered that, since it made no difference, Barbara had decided she might as well put on the most obscenely fashionable pumps she could afford.

Her clothes were comfortable—not even a bra—befitting a woman who expected to spend the night shut up in this cloister. But she still enjoyed looking good: her plain clothing and natural make-up largely got out of the way of her radiant beauty. The wireframe glasses she wore did more to enhance her good looks than anything else she had on. It put a cool, intellectual edge on the sexual frenzy promised by her wavy red hair, plump red lips, and the sizable breasts under her top.

Bruce could see it would be laborious… and rewarding… to rid her of that tightly controlled mentality. To reduce her, once again, to the willing, sensual schoolgirl she’d been as Batgirl. He knew that mischievous, girlish sexuality was lurking under all her maturity… perhaps only someone who’d known her then, like himself or Dick, understood that the first move had to be made for Barbara. That she no longer had the blithe foolhardiness to dare someone to seduce her.

The redheaded vixen was even more challenging now than she had been then, but Bruce saw no reason that a criminal like Catwoman or a renegade like Huntress should advantage from his unleashed urges, but not Barbara Gordon.

She desperately needed to be drawn out of her shell. Smashed out of it. And her old worshipful obsession with Batman was perhaps hammer enough to do it.

He announced himself by dropping Helena on a sofa set against the wall. Helena fell flat on her face, ruing the loss of Bruce’s arms around her, but falling just as quickly into the comfort the cushions offered and her own exhaustion. She snuggled into the plush softness, not summoning herself back to wakefulness even when Bruce slapped her ass.

All that happened, as she struggled against her own tiredness, was that she lifted her head slightly, her eyelids fluttered, then she drooped back to the soothing decadence she’d found and slipped back under the waves of unconsciousness. She was well and truly asleep, without the energy to work herself into the waking world for who knew how many hours.

If Barbara didn’t look up from the sound of the couch accepting a sudden weight, she felt compelled to turn away from her work when she heard the slap of Bruce’s glove against Helena’s bare buttocks. She saw Helena settled on the couch, wearing only her cape and her misaligned mask—her costume, boots, gloves were either trapped underneath her or fallen around her body.

Barbara could see Helena’s bare flank, the swell of her ass through the cape that covered her like a blanket, and the curve of her breast, flattened against the couch’s surface. Helena had never been shy, frequently parading naked around the Clocktower for whatever reason, but she’d never looked so voluptuous as she did then, clearly freshly fucked and reduced to an nebulous slumber by how good it had been.

But then, Barbara didn’t need to be a detective to know what had happened. She’d heard every word Helena had said: how she’d cried out to be Batman’s bitch, how she’d begged to be used, how her usual sexual aggression had turned against her as Bruce gave her everything she asked for and more.

It was hard for Barbara not to envy Helena. How many of her fantasies, back in her days as Batgirl, had involved Batman doing to her exactly what he’d done to Huntress? She didn’t consider herself a submissive, but there was something about the wondered of Batman both losing control and taking it, both punishing her and rewarding her.

Maybe taking her over his knee for the blistering spanking he felt a bad little girl like her deserved—maybe reducing her to the same fucked out bliss Helena had found as his way of showing her she wasn’t nearly the adult and equal she fancied herself being to him.

Barbara didn’t know why, but for all she was frustrated by how Bruce condescended and commanded to her—it most definitely turned her on.

And now Helena Bertinelli, like the prodigal son, had gotten the undeserved reward that Barbara had lusted after for so long.

“Jesus, Bruce—” Normally Barbara would never use his name, even with Helena unconscious, but she was in such a state and Bruce had clearly wanted her to feel that way, acting as he had, so screw it. He could deal with her. “I know you don’t like her being on my team, but do you have to fuck the shit out of her before you drop her off like Chinese food?”

“I don’t mind her being on your team. You just need to take a firmer hand with her.”

“Like you did? I can’t just drop her on her knees and shove my cunt in her face.”

“If you say so.” He left the curt statement hanging, the ambiguity deliberately provocative, like he was challenging her with the idea that she could. That she should.

Barbara was not at all eager to admit that there was any correlation between her fixation on Bruce back as Batgirl and the relationships she had with the Birds now. She was their leader; they weren’t obsessed with her or crushing on her and it wouldn’t improve the team at all for her to just throw Dinah or Helena or both into bed. Whether or not they wanted it as she once had.

Barbara dismissed the wondered—the suddenly very insistent wondered—by turning back to her work. There was at all times something in Gotham that needed doing. If it weren’t one of a hundred supervillains pulling a job, it was one of a hundred and one superheroes needing their hands held, messes cleaned up…

Bruce’s cold voice intruded on the lull of her work. “Did you watch?”

“Watch what?” Barbara snapped dismissively.

“Helena learning her place.”

Barbara stopped short, fingers frozen mid-keystroke. “There were… there were no cameras… you know that, urban legend…”

“Did that stop you?”

No. There were satellites, reflections. She couldn’t see much, just heat signatures through a haze of X-rayed walls, but the motion was undeniably suggestive. When she took it with the sounds coming over Helena’s communicator—overwhelming.

Barbara hadn’t masturbated, but she’d felt the urge to like she was a kid again, like she was Batgirl again, bursting with need that insulted her broken body. She could never sate herself like this urge called for; not in a wheelchair. But Helena… lucky, lucky Helena…

“You like watching,” Bruce continued. She hadn’t answered his question, hadn’t concurred with his accusation, but he ramrodded right through, taking his deduction as a given. The bastard. “It’s safe. Comfortable. I’ve felt you watching me before. With Catwoman. Talia. But it’s a waste for you to be nothing more than a voyeur. Your body’s delicious. I want it.”

Barbara felt like a cartoon animal that had walked off a cliff and suddenly realized it was stepping on thin air before it got to the other side. She was just waiting to fall.

She’d wanted Bruce for so long… wanted him so piquantly, after what she’d heard and seen with Helena… that this proposition felt unreal. It was a sop to her ego to finally have him wanting her; it was an affront to have him choosing her so bluntly. She forced herself to scoff before she could let him take her; not because she wanted to, but because Barbara felt she’d have no choice at all if she waited another second to decide.

“You think you know me so well,” she told him. “Just because once I would’ve thought you fucking me meant your approval and that your approval meant a… a thumbs up from God. But you’re not God. And I don’t care about your approval.”

“No. You care about this.”

Helplessly, Barbara looked at him. He’d taken his cock out from his costume. Powerful looking, it thrust out from his crotch like some enormous weapon. She could see little drops of precum on the swollen end.

She breathed heavily, unable to stop herself from comparing him to Dick, also well-endowed, but Grayson had a way of offering his prick to her, like he was giving her a gift, a tool she could use for her own pleasure. His intent to satisfy her was at all times a third party in the room.

Bruce wasn’t like that. Barbara had no doubt it would be satisfying just kissing that huge cock, but that wasn’t Bruce’s agenda. He was giving her his cock to worship. He expected it to intimidate her. And Barbara felt her body giving it, as frightened as it was excited by however overwhelming this experience might be.

“You’re right,” Bruce said, his growl calm and conversational, as crisply threatening as it would be while he interrogated a skel. “I don’t know you. When you were Batgirl, you would’ve been submissive. You wouldn’t have dared to think you could handle a cock like this. I’d take those horns on your cowl, all that red hair trailing out the back, and fuck your face. But now you don’t want to look like me, you want to be me. Maybe you’d take charge of a cock like this. Show me how you can suck it, milk it, make it come for you. Like you couldn’t stand just being a wet hole like Helena was for me. But you haven’t changed that much. You’re still Barbara Gordon. Not Batgirl. Not Oracle. Those were only ever shields you held up in front of yourself. So choose for yourself, like you always have. Do you want to suck? Or do you just want to swallow?”