divine-my-own-future:

likeamantra:

He pulled away, turning back to face the city. “It doesn’t really matter, anyway. If you’re not bothered, then why should I be?”

A plume of smoke drifted east, contrasting starkly against the black waters. Sirens echoed against concrete and stone, sending a confusing array of noise at the pair of vigilantes. It didn’t make for a very romantic setting. Jay’s phone pulsed, an update from Henri. [Arsenal took a bullet in Trillium Park. He’s back at HQ. Starfire is en route to the Mob scuffle on Channel Island.] He looked back up, frowning.

“Batsie…I should get going. Duty calls." 

One last kiss, and he was over the edge, slipping his helmet on as he free-fell to the ground. A grapple stopped his momentum, and he was on his bike in minutes.

So much for normal.

With a hasty embrace he was gone and her fingers splayed into the air as if trying to grab onto a shadow. Barbara moved to the threshold of the roof, elbows planted on top of the railing, weight shifting from the balls of her feet back down to her heels — teetering right on the edge. A sigh pulled from taught lips, and with a hard swallow she forced the tension out of her shoulders. Barbara could feel her jaw start to clench, her stomach lurching.

"See you.” The words were thrust forward into the empty night as a chill of a lonesome gust of wind rolled over Gotham’s skyline. Apprehension drew over her like a bothersome, itchy blanket, and she jumped out, free falling two stories before throwing out a line and floating softly to the ground. She could still taste him on her lips, smell him on her clothes and smile drew over her mouth. 

            Duty calls.

divine-my-own-future:

The edges of Gotham began to dissolve around them, and for a moment she was no longer moving, just standing in awe of poetic words and pure praise. Then instantly she was hyper aware; pink clambered up her neck, staining her cheeks. Embarrassment coated her mouth and words stuck somewhere in the back of her throat.

“What can I say risky is my middle name. Although, typically my middle name is stubborn.” Her mouth softened into a smile as she tipped her chin up, attempting to keep him at eye level. “Does anyone ever truly work alone in this city? Don’t worry about me, Hood. I do alright.” Barbara shrugged, sarcastic lilt spilling over her tongue.

“Maybe I like the assumptions ––” Before she could conclude her statement, he had pulled her dangerously close, lips meeting and connecting seamlessly. Her muscles felt like they were thawing, arms wrapping tighter around his shoulders. 

He pulled away, turning back to face the city. “It doesn’t really matter, anyway. If you’re not bothered, then why should I be?”

A plume of smoke drifted east, contrasting starkly against the black waters. Sirens echoed against concrete and stone, sending a confusing array of noise at the pair of vigilantes. It didn’t make for a very romantic setting. Jay’s phone pulsed, an update from Henri. [Arsenal took a bullet in Trillium Park. He’s back at HQ. Starfire is en route to the Mob scuffle on Channel Island.] He looked back up, frowning.

“Batsie…I should get going. Duty calls." 

One last kiss, and he was over the edge, slipping his helmet on as he free-fell to the ground. A grapple stopped his momentum, and he was on his bike in minutes.

So much for normal.

divine-my-own-future:

Barbara dramatically rolled her eyes, sneering as she shook her head. “Here I thought I was in shape. Never good enough for the great and powerful Red Hood.” She slid her right hand over the crest of his shoulder, splayed hand sitting high on his back. Her gaze fluttered away from his face, casually hanging on the imposing horizon surrounding them. The streets, the rooftops, had become completely and utterly theirs in the last year. If possible she felt more at ease and comfortable with him than anyone else and she felt the contentment relax her shoulders down.

“French assassin.” She rolled the words over her tongue a few times as if trying to physically taste the preposterous statement. If it had been anyone else she wouldn’t have even remotely believed them. “Of course.” A sincere laugh escaped her mouth as she rested her head lightly against the armor covering his chest. “Once upon a time I was a classically trained dancer, anything you can throw at me, I can take.”

Letting out a small satisfied sigh, Barbara nodded her head. “Pretty sure the secret thing was all your idea. Didn’t want to hurt your reputation, or didn’t want your friends making fun of you for hanging out with a bat. I don’t answer to anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Explains the mile long legs. Ballet, i always assumed. You move like…”
He stopped, aware of the small blush creeping up his face.
“Like moonlight on a snowbank. Soft and smooth and silent, like you’re not really part of the world.” Embarrassed, he shrugged. “Weightless, Batsie. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, and I’ve grown up around killers and ninjas since i was four feet tall.”

“You’re totally alone when I’m not around? No one running logistics in your ear, nothing tying you to help? That’s risky, Batsie. You never know what dangerous killer might decide to make a move on you, take you by surprise on a secluded area.” As he spoke, he leaned closer to her, his words barely carrying over the traffic noises below. “People might make assumptions about your character, based on reckless behavior with a knave like me.” He kissed her, pulling her hips to his as his tongue swirled around hers.

divine-my-own-future:

“Sorry,” Barbara cupped a hand to her ear. “I can’t understand you. Something about me being the better vigilante, right? Shouldn’t talk with your mouth full.” Bounding up from her seated position, she sucked in her bottom lip between her front teeth, cautious smirk playing at her mouth. She watched with curiosity as something flashed over his face, something she didn’t quite comprehend. Something, she assumed, he was trying to obfuscate. 

Standing with her hands on her hips, Barbara grabbed at his arms, attempting to pull him up. “Trying to serenade me? It won’t work. I’m a hard egg to crack.” A brief burst of laughter escaped her lips, hanging in the air before she tried to hoist him again. “You’re heavier than you look.”

“So, you sing, you shoot bad guys, you bring me hot dogs from the stadium, but…” There was a glimmer in her eye as she placed their hands together, weaving fingers against his. “Do you dance?”

He laughed as she failed to lift him, knowing he was nearly three hundred pounds, armor and weapons included. “You’re gonna need to work out a bit more to lift me, Batsie.” But he stood a little taller, letting her lift him a few inches. When she darted around him, holding his hands up, he smiled.

“I was taught to dance by a French assassin while living in Rome. What do you like, a waltz? Two step? It’s been a few years, but still. I think I can manage.”

A speaker in the Hood played in the backgroumd, Elvin Bishop’s Fooled Around and Fell in Love. The dance was slow, soft, and totally different for them. The deadly assassin Red Hood, cradling the willowy vigilante Batgirl, dancing int he cold night air. Bruce would have been furious.

With her head on his chest, he whispered to her, barely carrying above the wind and street noise. “It’s really a shame we’re supposed to keep this a secret, Batsie. It’s hard enough with you working solo. I’ve still got a group asking me where I keep going.” He paused, still swaying slowly. “Don’t you have someone who wonders where you go?”

divine-my-own-future:

The crest of her eyebrow moved into a cheeky arch; lips pursed into a half smile, half irritated smirk. Barbara’s eyes rolled, shaking her head in a curt manner. There was never a stale moment between them and it was something she had come to appreciate, even revel in.  It wasn’t as if the other aspects of her life were mundane – she did dress up in full costume and fly across Gotham’s rooftops for fun, but he had kept her on her toes. Kept her patrols fresh. Kept her curious. Kept her wanting more.

The flicker in his eyes briefly sets her heart fluttering, a skyward spiral she never wants to stop. There is defiant challenge hidden in his words, and she was getting very good at reading between the lines. Snatching the bag, she scoffed, opening one of the pouches and shoving the half-eaten cookie back in.

“I stood in line for hours for that crumbled pastry and you want bread?” She wet her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, faux irritation rolling over her shoulders. 

“Hey!”

His objection, mouth still full of cookie, came out distorted and hard to understand. He faked a pout, crossing his arms in mock anger.

“Man can live on bread alone, you know. Trust me. I was full on Aladdin as a kid.”

It was true, however sad it was. Years spent as a street rat, stealing what he needed to survive. He’d given Batgirl the basics, but she didn’t know the gritty details. Stabbing the security guard, Tom. How he’d stayed in the apartment with his dead mother’s body until food ran out. No one needed to know that.

He faked a smile, laughed, and then turned away from her, gazing out over the cityscape. He sighed, then quirked his mouth into a grin.

“I can show you the world, Batsie. Shining, shimmering-splendid.”

divine-my-own-future:

“Oh, I definitely think you’re all of those things. An accountant slash plumber slash carpenter slash undead assassin saving Gotham from itself.” A grin tugged at her mouth as she rested her chin in her hands.

“I almost forgot.” Digging into one of the pouches on her belt, Barbara produced a small brown bag. “It’s your fault if they’re nothing but crumbles.” Stamped on the outside of the bag was the logo for a small local bakery in North Beach. Once a month locals lined up, hugging sidewalks and buildings, the queue curling around for blocks, for the chance to purchase the matriarch of the Leuzzi family’s famous pizzelles.

North Beach was one of the few old Gotham neighborhoods to avoid gentrification. A hidden jewel among superstructures and towering metal. Barbara had seen first-hand the ill effects shifts of money brought to her beloved city. The neighborhood she had grown up in had been bought and sold three or four times while she was away at college. Urban redevelopment, that’s what the real estate investors called it, but it was little more than a money grab veiled in venture capitalist terminology. The playground she had spent her days exploring, her respite from the concrete jungle, had been demolished to make way for clean chrome and glass; the old oaks and cedar trees that lined the streets removed for fresh cement and fire hydrants. Gotham’s future, Gotham’s saviors, the newspapers proclaimed, but anyone that grew up in Gotham knew that neither was true.

“Next time don’t tackle me and maybe your cookies won’t be dust.” Barbara gazed up, observing the stars, like tiny pieces of rock salt scattered across the cloudy sky. It felt like there was electricity in the air, as if the city was awakening for the evening. The sensation prickled against the exposed skin on her face, bringing a rosy blush to the apples of her cheeks.

“Hey, Leuzzi’s! Score.”

He tore the package open, popping a small chunk into his mouth. It was true, he could have been gentler. But then again, she would never go easy on him. Ever. That was cheating, and she didn’t allow that.

“You know,” he said, holding up the wrinkled bag, “you could always try harder, and this wouldn’t be an issue. Or get better snacks. Like bread! You can’t crumble a good loaf of bread. Trust me. It’s sturdy food.”

He grinned, his eyes gleaming in mirth. 

“Or, like I said. Don’t lose. Your choice.”

divine-my-own-future:

Barbara rested against the roof, weight evenly distributed along the curvature of her spine, green eyes lazily raking across the horizon. There was a latent, knee-jerk reaction of worry and fear that stirred when Hood admitted to seeking out her civilian identity.  The adrenaline involuntarily leaking into her system wanted her to drop boot to sheet metal and bolt until she was safe. Put miles and miles between them.

She was always careful, borderline obsessive, about protecting her identity. But she had become soft around him – trusting. She’d unconsciously dropped her guard on multiple occasions. Rash, but as she snuck a glance of him from the corner of her eye, memory of his lips on hers only moments before, there was understanding. Maybe she didn’t care if he knew who she was. The comprehension of possible exposure pushed her up to a seated position, legs crossed underneath her.  

It really wasn’t the disclosure she was worried about. It was the likely rejection. The knowing tell when someone realized who she was: the daughter of Gotham’s commissioner, a humble librarian. Nothing special; awash in mediocrity and muted tones.

Her body felt exhausted, but her mind continued to sharp wakeful crests and low valleys. Worry drew across her brow as she released a pent up lungful of air. “You wouldn’t want to know me. I promise.” She realized almost instantly she was wearing her insecurities visibly on her expression and she used a small chuckle as concealment. “It’s complicated, isn’t it? Everything that isn’t,” Barbara pointed to their costumes. “This.”

She was always like this; self deprecating, but serious. So harsh on herself, like she truly didn’t like who she was when she wasn’t wearing the cowl. It was odd, Jason thought, because she was so confident as Batgirl. But of course he still wanted to know her secrets, her life. 

“It’s only complicated if you make it that way.” A lie, but not malicious.
“This-what we have now-isn’t hard. It’s…it’s just different.”

From fast food on bridge columns to ice cream on skyscrapers, they’d had their dates with an flourish and uniqueness that made this courtship, or whatever the fuck it was, distinctly different. Add in the fact that they didn’t really know what the other looked like, and you had a flair of mystery that gave an already electric relationship a spark of danger.

“Besides, Batsie. You never know. I could be some mild mannered accountant in my other life. Maybe a plumber, or a carpenter. Or” he paused, grinning. “Maybe I’m an undead assassin, back from the Void to clean up the world of evil.”

Of course, that was basically true, but who would believe that?

divine-my-own-future:

He reminded her so much of a fox: sleek but wiry; cunning and adaptable. The way his mouth curled into his infamous half grin gave hint to his knowing slyness. A complete and utter mystery.

Lying back on the roof, eyes scanning the night sky, she inhaled and exhaled deeply. “That seems like a silly question.” She did often wonder who he was. Was he as much of an enigma without the mask as he was with it? Did he pass through crowds, assimilating to Gotham’s populace much like she did? Was he an absolute unknown, easily falling into step – a cog of society’s inner working? Or did he stand out, commanding attention and respect like the Red Hood did?

She struggled with her identity, the split between Barbara Gordon and Batgirl. At one point she felt they were one and the same, but as the years wore on, Batgirl felt like the person she had always strived to be. She was strong, independent, and confident. Things Barbara Gordon just wasn’t. Not yet, anyway. The mask, the cowl, the costume – it all felt like her, more than the glasses and mousy angled face and patterns of freckles that framed her body.

Turning her head slightly to the side, she chuckled. “Of course I do.”

He snorted at her response, a small pshh slipping between his teeth. He knew how she was with technology. If she had wanted to find him, she would have. Gods know there was enough evidence. But that was trust, still sharing information and gadgets with her. There was no prenup for friendship, as nice as it would have been.

But that didn’t really matter. It was the idea of having someone-other than his own network, of course-that was so appealing. She provided him with an unbiased opinion, one that hadn’t been tainted by the League, or his childhood experiences. She didn’t have to know he’d spent time as a political prisoner in Siberia. She didn’t have to know that his father figure had tried to destroy Gotham, and that Jason’s first love’s sister had very nearly succeeded in that same task just two years earlier. All she needed to know was that he cared, goddammit, he cared about this city. After all, that was what had drawn them together. A common pull for justice (regardless of their disagreements on how far to take it, they actually agreed on punishing criminals) and a fierce loyalty to those whom they called their own.

“I’ve looked for you, ya know.” It came out as a rushed whisper, a hurried phrase eager to leave his mind.  

“Several times. Nothing. You hide your tracks very well.: He hesitated then, unsure.

"I…I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought about following you home, but that left hook is a good enough offense to make itself a defense.” A sheepish chuckle. 

“You’re a tough one, Batsie.”

divine-my-own-future:

“No, Hood, you’re confusing your sports. Baseball is the one with the high socks and PEDs. Football is the one with the tight pants and –”

The kiss took her off guard, just like it always did. Nothing could prepare her for the whirlwind strength of his lips on hers, no matter how often it had happened. It took her breath away, leaving a swell of elation cresting from her chest. Muscles relaxed, tension from the day melting as she eased against him. In contrast, her heart began thumping wildly against her chest, threatening to burst through her ribs and tear out of her skin.

It was strange affection, this clandestine dance they did. Chasing criminals, trading quips, kissing in the moonlight. She would have considered it romantic if romance wasn’t totally and completely lost on her. Years and experiences had left her jaded. But this? This was hope, and she was happier than she’d been in a long time. It was something she couldn’t quite comprehend. So, she couldn’t define it. Didn’t understand it. She’d managed to cull her inner control freak months ago, but she was still learning to let things be. Not everything needed an explanation. Not everything needed a clear cut designation.

Her hands slipped around his shoulders, resting gently at the nape of his neck. She drew him in, closing the last remaining bit of space between them. Each movement of lips and tongue was read – anticipated, and returned as if on instinct. Their lips pressed together hard, demanding and butterflies bloomed in her torso in response. The confident, sure embrace wrapped around her like an ethereal blanket.

Breaking the kiss, her lips parted from his, hovering a few inches from his face. Breath caught in her throat for a beat, dilated eyes staring past Hood’s face toward the night sky. “We should probably stop meeting like this. Right?” Her tone was tentative, holding the slightest trace of sarcasm as a grin ghosted across rosy lips. 

He exhaled as she pulled away, struck as always by just how soft she was. Her, the woman who danced through mobs like a windmill of fists and feet, was like putty in his arms.

“Beat me in tag one of these days and we can discuss a new arrangement. Until then, winner sets the rules.”

Then he’s a whisper of breath at her ear, a hint of teeth on her neck. Somewhere, a dog howls at the sky. The city is quiet.

Neither of them notice. They’re wrapped up in each other, like they so often are, letting all the training and caution go so they can enjoy the company of the other. They are at peace, both of them, for the first time in either of their lives.

It’s not until he’d pushed back from her, rolling off and next to her, that he spoke. With his eyes reflecting the brilliant moon, he murmured soft words under his breath.

“You ever wonder who I am in the daylight, Batsie?”

divine-my-own-future:

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 14^th 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.