She was regretting the five mile run she had squeezed in between work and patrol. Absolutely regretting it. Lungs burned with every sharp inhale, muscles cried out, but she pushed through. Fiercely competitive, she was not about to let him win. Again.
He had the distinct advantage of a good six inches in height on her but what she lacked in height she made up in lithe, skilled strength and speed. Easily losing him on a tight corner, Barbara rounded 14th and Elm, grabbing hold of a fire escape on a derelict building and climbing skyward. Point: Batgirl. Pace increased as she effortlessly glided from roof to roof, jumping over the crevice between crowded structures, landing a handspring into a forward roll. Now she was just showing off.
Ego got the best of her, however, as reality began to rush in. Total amateur blunder. She’d been so busy making herself look good she hadn’t seen the side of the large skyscraper coming up to greet her. Fumbling around her belt, she grabbed for her grapple, computing in her head how to maneuver around the current obstacle.
She didn’t even have time to double check her calculation.
The take down knocked the wind out of her as she tumbled, wincing when she landed. “Illegal contact! Unnecessary roughness! Where is the penalty flag?” Barbara barked out false wails, stifling a laugh. She hoisted herself up into a seated position, hands splayed against the ground, gloved fingers pulling at loose roof tar. “I’m going to need an instant replay. I think you cheated.”
With a sneer, she roughed up a patch of hair at his crown. “Get off me you scruffy looking nerf herder.”
“There’s no crying in baseball, Batsie. Hush.”
He was still out of breath, still heaving as she twitched underneath him. Then her fingers were in his hair-fuck, she knows what that does to me-and he was bending over her chest, lips searching hers out.
They met in a crush of passion, as these games served more as a warmup to making out like teenagers than they did for any real tactical training. Sure, he’d given her pointers; for example, she was now deadly proficient in knife fighting, as well as a dynamite marksman with a blade. She, in turn, had taken him under her wings-heh, slip of the tongue-and showed him exactly how she had outsmarted him all those times they’d patrolled together. She had a knack for tactics, and had saved his ass more than a few times when he’d underestimated the enemy. They were a damn good team, and he made more and more of an effort to spend time with her, even if it was only once or twice a week, always on patrol.
The Outlaws didn’t patrol every night, anyway. Roy was always working on projects in the Complex, usually without noticing he’d been awake for 37 hours straight. Kory was more content with Dick or Henri, and spent her off time at the Gardens, or keeping up with her more charitable hobbies.
Jason, on the flip side, had no extracurricular activities outside of patrol, save for the ongoing training with the kid. Dick was a quick learner, but even so, he’d been impressed with how fast he picked up new skills. He was almost ready for solo testing, which meant that every minute Red Hood could spend with Batgirl was precious.
Back to Batgirl. Her lips tasted like cherry and honey, soft even though they were chapped and bitten. She had a bad habit, all vigilantes did. Jason didn’t mind. It gave her lips character. His own were no better, after all. Years of smoking and hard living had taken its toll on him, as well.
But that didn’t matter in these moments, the sneaked sessions away from teammates and stigmas and all the politics that being a Bat entailed. These were theirs to own, and Jason planned on owning this particular moment, right here on the rooftop, for as long as the night allowed.
and all of this will never be the same again 