Over The Hood

by Darklady

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. DC does. If I owned the characters, you'd have to go to special stores to buy your comics. (Ummm. And that would be different HOW? )

Rated: NC-17

Pairing: Batman/Robin

Note: The Robin referred to here is Dick Grayson, not Jason Todd or Tim Drake. Dick has left the Manor, and is now a student at Hudson University. Can everybody say "age of consent"? I thought you could.

Archive: To the archives of WWOMB.

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Poison Ivy. One of my personal nightmares. Not that any of the Gotham freaks are the stuff of sweet dreams. But the plant lady? At least Freeze or Penguin only want to kill me. What she wants?

I feel myself shudder at the thought. At least this time we had some warning before we went in. Not much - but enough to let me get into full kevlar.

Not my favorite suit. I have always preferred the chill of the open air on my legs. But I've also preferred to stay alive. Which we are. Barely.

Since I left for Hudson U, either I've gotten soft or the villains have gotten hard. I'd ask Bruce, but he'd just say I needed to train more. Move back from the dorm. Stay on track.

He might be right.

Ivy had some new nasties this time. Killer vines. Six inch thorns. Flowers with teeth, and a pheromone -warping pollen that... I shudder again. Harder.

Batarmor is good, but I can still feel that pollen burning. On my face, where my mask broke the seal of the gas mask. On my wrists, burning like manacles where the flying spores were caught by the flare of my gloves. On one shoulder, in a whip-slash line where my cape must have loosened my body armor when one of the clasps tore free. All those places. And... I feel it deeper. I feel it in the sweat that trickles down my spine and in the hardening pulse in my cock and the tightness in my balls and in the deeper throbbing...

I force the thoughts from my mind.

Control. Focus and control. Ten minutes to the Batcave. There will be an antidote. I will control.

Thank ghod I don't have to drive. I don't think I could.

I risk a glance at the Batman.

Nothing.

His face is set. His eyes locked on the road.

I don't know if his armor is that much better or if he's just better at resisting, The later, I suspect.

Still, I know he's not unaffected.

Batman has been silent. Nothing odd there when we're with Gordon or his people. Post-fight chatter has always been the side-kick's job. But afterwards? Once we've sealed the car and are headed back to the Cave? That's debrief time. Time for Bruce to tell me what I did right - or more often wrong. Time to recount what worked and replan so the rest works better next time. But tonight?

I risk another look.

Tonight the Bat is silent.

Inside the car, the night is silent.

I am silent.

Until.

We hit a rock in the roadway. Not too large. Normally nothing. This near to the cliffs you have to expect road debris, and even at this speed the Batmobile is built to compensate automatically. Still, there is always some impact. And in this case?

As the sudden jolt crosses my over-strained nerves I can not avoid a gasp.

Instantly smothered, but he hears it.

No word. No look. But ten seconds later the Batmobile is off the road and tucked into a narrow crevice carved into the cliff face.

"Out."

One word. Enough.

I unclip my harness and swing out over the door.

High above there is moonlight, and even this close to the city a good showing of stars against sapphire. Here? Pressed between two slabs of rough stone? The cliff shadows drink the light.

"Come."

One gloved hand on my arm, pulling me forward deeper into the dark.

I obey.

Four steps and I know we are in front of the car.

No word this time. Just the pressure of that hand pushing me back. Command understood. I roll, falling back on the hood of the car with my legs raised.

The stone-chilled air is a shock to my heated flesh as he unzips the crotch closure on my armor. Only that.

The smooth enamel of the hood is cold against my ass. The hand that grips my cock is colder still. A gauntlet.

It's black here. Too black to see. His jaw line is lost in shadow. So are the blue eyes that can shift so swiftly from ice- gray to the heart-stopping sky that long since claimed my soul. Only the silhouette is clear against the spangled sky. The outline of the Bat. Raised above me.

I spread my knees wider, and feel the pressure of his armor on my own as he presses towards me.

A brief coldness at the muscle ring. He must have something in his utility belt. What I don't know. Nor does it matter. Not while that leather- thickened finger is marking a path of flame inside me.

It has never felt like this before.

Is it the pollen? On me? On his gloves? Or is it the wild madness of this.... dare I even call it a mating?

A second pass of the gelled finger. Quick, but sufficient. And then his cock.

Only his cock.

No kiss. No touch. No word.

Nothing but flesh.

Nothing but that one flesh, hot and relentless, driving deep within me. Burning me. Branding me. Claiming me.

I want to whisper. To beg. To call out to Bruce.

But... I can't.

Because?

I'm not being fucked by Bruce.

This isn't Bruce.

This madness of darkness and heat is nothing of Bruce.

I'm being fucked by the night itself. The dark night.

I moan as I cum - and he gives me his gloved hand to bite on.

It tastes of dust and sweat and blood and something more I can't name but somehow know is the Bat.

It should be over, but it's not. He is still within me. Still hard. Still strong. Unfaltering as the rhythm of the night sky itself.

I twist beneath him, still clamped into the tightness of those fingers. Half-mindless. Seeking pleasure. Seeking relief.
Seeking mercy from the merciless force that is still driving spikes of pleasure into my spine.

Four more strokes. Then stillness.

He cums in silence.

My thighs are cramping. I lower my legs slowly.

That eases the ache, but not complete. I can feel the tender spots on my shoulders and neck. Spots where the bruising is too fresh to *be* a bruise. They will be purple come morning. The calves of my legs will likewise ache. No cramps yet, but those will come as the overstretched muscles reset enough to rebel. And my back passage? Not torn, no. I'm uninjured... by Bat standards. But I will be glad tomorrow *not* to be sitting in class.

My breathing is still rough. The only sound in the unshifting dark.

No word.

No movement.

No touch.

Pulling my cape aside, I roll over, grip the flared edges of the hood, and whisper... "Again."

*FINIS*
©KKR 2002