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.

HIs breath was ragged. He’d been sprinting for blocks now, keeping up with the shadowy figure maintaining his pace on the rooftops. Every time he looked up, he’d see it-a flash of red among smog and lights. She was running out of room to maneuver, too. The block after this one didn’t have any connected bridges, and unless she planned on grappling up a sheer wall of fifty stories, she’d be stuck. He took the gamble. Not pausing in his breakneck pace, he fired once, feeling the tug on his shoulder as his weight left his feet. 

Five…Four…Three…Two…

He hit the gravel roof with powerful footsteps, letting his momentum carry him forward back into a sprint. He could see her cape now, flapping behind her just a few dozen yards in front of him. He dug into his reserves, straining to pick up that extra boost of speed as he tailed her, doing the required math in his head to adjust his next jump. 

But she used a grapple. The extra half second she took to leave the ground was all he needed; a powerful flying tackle hit her around the waist, carrying her across the gap and onto the next rooftop. In seconds he was seated on her hips, panting as he removed the helmet. Leaning down, he smirked at Batgirl. 

“Tag-you’re it.”