Birds of Prey - Twisted Desire Ch. 05

Chapter Nine

Blood in the Water

Dinah had been adamant that she was never going near Reston again. The sole exception, of course, being when it was finally time to pound the bastard's face in. Barbara, as the understanding and compassionate leader of the team, respected her friend's wishes. While it was certainly a shame to let such a hot lead go cold, Barbara wasn't going to push the issue. To force a woman to do something against her will was a gross betrayal of everything the Birds of Prey stood for.

Luckily, Barbara had another avenue of opportunity. And he was sitting right in the front row of her English class.

Andrew Westfield.

She'd witnessed the lad getting cozy with not one but two of his female teachers. With how common that sort of situation was on the Kingston Campus, Barbara had a feeling the Brotherhood types seemed to have a particular fetish.

In a way, it made perfect sense. The hormonal teen boys bending the female authority figures to their will, making older women sexually submit to them. If Barbara were the power-hungry, controlling type - and she wasn't - that'd be the kind of thing she'd do.

So today, Barbara Morgan was in the business of inspiration. Feminine inspiration. She was going to be the woman that Andrew Westfield couldn't ignore. The woman he just had to chase. She certainly dressed the part: long skirt, black turtleneck, chic glasses with big circle lenses - the kind that made her blue eyes seem that much bigger and brighter. Barbara Morgan wasn't the bombshell that Dinah Blake was in her gym bunny garb. No, she was the hot-cute teacher. Mousy enough to be approachable, attainable, but hot enough to wiggle her way into many a man's dreams. The turtleneck wasn't tight, just tight enough.

The bell rang, a clear, electronic note blaring through the speakers. End of the period. End of the school day.

Showtime, Barbara.

"That's it for today, kids." Barbara rose from her desk, smoothing out her beige midi skirt. She gave a small wave towards the students making their way towards the door. "There'll be a quiz over the material sometime next week, so please remember to do the reading assignments. Mr. Westfield, would you stay a moment?"

Westfield didn't exactly perk up at the mention of his name. Glancing towards his friends who were already filing through the classroom door, he slung his backpack over one shoulder and made his way to Barbara's desk.

She could see a bit of wariness in his eyes. Surely, he was mulling over the possibilities in his head: Was he in trouble? Did he do poorly on the homework? Barbara forced a warm smile at the young man, welcome to anything that kept Westfield off balance. That just made her job easier. Though she did note that those same wary eyes of his were taking not-so-subtle glances at the curious fashion in which her turtleneck fit snugly about her chest.

As bait, Barbara felt she was doing a damn fine job.

"What's up, Ms. Morgan?" Inquired the jock. Even wary as he was, it was difficult for a guy like Westfield to appear timid. Tall - a head taller than Barbara - with those wide shoulders and big arms that were the norm on football players, he was cut from a similar cloth as Matthew Reston. Westfield was young, handsome, athletic, born into wealth...

And willing to use magic to enslave helpless women.

"Oh, nothing." Barbara put a soft cadence into her voice, just a little higher pitched than normal. Somewhere in the back of his twisted mind, Westfield would pick up on it and lower his voice accordingly. He wouldn't think to do it, of course. It would be a reaction to her, as natural as breathing. She wasn't Barbara Morgan, the teacher. She was Barbara Morgan, the woman. The very obvious woman with the tight sweater and the soft, lovely voice. And Westfield would need to be just as obvious as a man. "I just needed some help carrying these boxes back to my room. I figured it would be easy for you, being a big football player and all."

Said boxes were filled with nothing but stacks and stacks of blank notebook paper. But Westfield didn't need to know that. All that mattered was that his cute redhead teacher was too small and too delicate to carry the boxes herself. A lady should never be doing something as silly as carrying heavy boxes. She needed a man for the job and she had chosen him specifically. What with how big and strong he was.

Barbara wasn't the type to toot her own horn, but she had to admit to herself that her plans were sometimes just too good.

"Oh." Westfield came around to her side of the desk, his eyes falling to the boxes stacked beside her chair. Barbara could practically see the wheels turning in his head, that little spark of realization in his eyes. The chance to impress his cute teacher. The chance to prove her right, that he was the best man for the job. Any job. "Oh, yeah. Definitely."

"If it's not too much trouble..." Barbara clasped her hands together in front of her lap, giving a half-apologetic smile. The training from Bruce came in handy in keeping the act together, but the urge to break out into cackling laughter was there all the same. She watched with well-hidden glee as Westfield scooped the boxes into his arms, heaving them up so they were chest-level.

The young teen craned his head around the corner of the boxes, flashing her what was likely supposed to be a charming grin.

"It's no problem, Ms. Morgan. I got this." Westfield shifted his grip on the stack of boxes, grunting. "What'd you have in these, anyway? Bricks?"

"Oh, just some notebooks and textbooks. Boring teacher stuff." She flashed him a smile of her own. The dazzling, pearly white type - and well-rehearsed, too. Barbara reached out and gave Westfield's arm the faintest, softest of brushes with the tips of her fingers. The ghost of a woman's touch. Subtle. Calculated. Effective. "But it looks like you can handle it just fine. Right?"

She let her eyes linger on his arms just a bit longer than normal, just enough for him to notice. Then she turned her eyes up to meet his own and gave him a look. Nothing too obvious, but enough to get him thinking.

"Absolutely." Westfield insisted. "These boxes are nothing. I'm good to go, Miss M."

"Thank you sooo much! I knew I could count on you, Andrew!" Barbara beamed at the young man, hugging her purse to her chest and giving a little bow of gratitude. She may have been laying it on a bit thick, but the results spoke for themselves. Westfield had caught a whiff of Barbara and the look in his eyes told her he wouldn't stop chasing until he had taken a bite. A big bite.

Barbara wasn't just leaving a trail of blood for the Great White. No, she had dumped the whole damn bucket of chum in the water. It was a dangerous game. But years of training under Bruce left her well-equipped to handle the challenge.

Some jock punk isn't going to turn Batgirl into shark food, Barbara thought as she led the jock punk in question out of her classroom. She spared a glance back at the young man dutifully carrying the boxes and frowned.

Getting him to take the bait was the easy part, Barbara reminded herself.

She needed more than just his attention. She needed an invitation.

- - -

Chapter Ten

Live Bait

"Isn't it kind of strange that Kingston Academy has some of the teachers living on campus along with the students?" Barbara probed, flashing Westfield a cheeky grin. She turned, hugging her purse to her belly as she walked backwards some distance in front of the younger man.

Westfield peeked around the side of the boxes he was carrying, squinting his blue eyes at the redhead. Only the top half of his head could be seen, but Barbara could make out the teen's expression of scrutiny. Had the thought simply never occurred to him before? Or was he concerned that someone finally noticed Kingston Academy's peculiar living arrangements?

"I never really thought about it." Westfield said after a moment.

Uh huh. Sure.

Barbara pursed her lips, turning back to walk normally again. She led Westfield further down the halls of the teachers' dormitory, the floral wallpaper design punctuated every few feet by dark wooden doors. The dorm was sparse of people, likely because the teachers who weren't wearing Brotherhood rings would rather spend their off-work hours in the nearby campus village instead of sticking around the creepy vibe of Kingston. And it was sure to stay that way until the late evening. Unlike students, teachers who lived on campus didn't have a curfew. At least that was the case on paper. More likely than not, Brotherhood goons played by their own rules.

"Right." Barbara kept her voice cheery, bubbly. If she was going to act as live bait, then she wasn't going to half-ass it. She had a role to play. "I suppose a teen boy like you is more worried about getting good grades, asking out cute girls..."

"Don't know about that. Cute girls usually come to me." Westfield fired back without missing a beat. The tall football player gave a short chuckle, sounding all too pleased with himself.

Charming, Barbara thought sourly. And to think I used to moon over guys like you back in high school.

"Huh." The redhead made an effort to keep her voice from dripping into a more bitter tone. She forced a flirty giggle, smothering the feeling of dreadful shame that dropped into her belly. "That doesn't surprise me. Guys who look like you tend to have the ladies wrapped around your finger."

"Got them wrapped around more than that." Westfield crowed darkly.

"Careful." Barbara had stopped dead in her tracks, whirling around on the young man. It was lucky that the boxes had blocked Westfield's view otherwise he would have seen a split second of Batgirl's furious glare. In a testament to Bruce's training, Barbara composed herself in an instant, swerving seamlessly back into the flirty teacher act. "It'd be a shame to write up such a handsome young man for... inappropriate language."

"Fine. Got it." Westfield grunted, plodding along behind her.

Barbara kept silent for the rest of the walk to her room, having lost what little desire she had to keep up the flirty talk. When the pair finally reached the door to her room, she had built up enough nerve to force a wide smile.

"Thank you sooo much for the help, Andrew." She crooned, doing well to hide her distaste for the younger man. She reached out to pull the same trick as before, softly brushing her fingers across Westfield's prominent forearms. "It didn't look like it was too much trouble for you. Not with arms like those. You must be pretty strong."

It bothered Barbara a little that some of the compliments she was forcing herself to pour onto Westfield were rooted in the truth, at least partially. It was a real shame about Andrew Westfield's villainous nature, Barbara thought, because as boorish as the young man was he remained a fine physical specimen.

"I'm not on first-string Varsity for nothing, Ms. M." Westfield bragged, smirking as he set the boxes down against the wall beside her door.

That face, that smile, those arms... Wasted on a creep like you.

"Hey, that's a very neat ring you've got on." Barbara chirped, masking investigative intent with a feigned girlish captivation. She even leaned forward some, dipping her face towards the glimmering black band on Westfield's finger. "I noticed that some of the other students have one just like it. Is it like a class ring or something?"

"Nah. It's a Brotherhood membership ring." Westfield held up his ring hand, clearly pleased with Barbara's growing attention.

"Oooh. The Brotherhood." Barbara's eyes flickered from the ring to his face, her ruby-painted lips curling into a kittenish little smile. She adjusted her thick-rimmed glasses, taking a slow, deliberate step closer to the teen. "Sounds mysterious."

"It's just a campus social club." Westfield shrugged, making a clear attempt to present the membership as no big deal to himself. A classic - and cliche - tactic at impressing a woman. It took some effort for Barbara not to roll her eyes. "But it's pretty exclusive. It's not even advertised on the school website."

"That would make it pretty hard to join, wouldn't it?" Barbara pursed her lips, cocking her head slightly to one side.

"You don't join the Brotherhood. You have to be invited." Westfield said quickly and firmly. For a moment, his voice became hard and clipped to the point that Barbara was momentarily shocked. It was a sudden far cry from the flirty nature the young man had a mere moment before.

"Huh... It definitely sounds exclusive." Barbara kept her eyes bright and her voice bubbly, playfully nudging the teen's muscled arm with her elbow. She had to keep the atmosphere light, teasing.

"Yeah." Westfield agreed. To Barbara's inner relief, his body visibly relaxed, the football player uncrossing his big, tense arms. He leaned back against the wall beside her door, grinning. "It helps if you know somebody on the inside."

"Well... I know you, don't I?" Barbara leaned just a bit closer, smirking.

The implication - and the intent - was clear. Westfield's grin spread into a wide smile, the teen's eyes resembling those of a man who had just struck gold.

"The Brotherhood doesn't accept women." Westfield said plainly, glancing towards nothing in particular down the empty hall. But he still kept that smug smile plastered on his face.

Barbara blinked. He wanted to keep the game going, she realized. Pursing her lips to hide the growing scowl, she narrowed her eyes at the young man.

I'm offering myself up on a silver fucking platter and you're still going to make me work for it? You really are a twisted bastard, Westfield.

Forcing down some biting words, the redhead felt a heat rising in her cheeks and ears. It was more anger than embarrassment, but Westfield didn't know that. He must've thought she was just another pretty, flustered teacher.

"But I've seen girls all over campus wearing rings just like yours." Barbara told him, taking a small step closer. She pointed with a single, dainty finger at the band of black stone Westfield wore on his right hand. She and her mark were close now. Very close. Close enough for her to lash out with a strike to his throat. It would take less than a second to crush his windpipe, she figured. Of course, the teen would take her intense fixation on him for sexual interest.

And he did. He turned his head back to cast his gaze upon her lithe form. In his eyes, she saw a subtle but clear appreciation for her now close proximity.

Westfield moved off of the wall, closing the distance between them just a little more. Close enough for Barbara to feel the heat of his breath on her face.

He was bigger than her. Taller, wider, undeniably stronger. He possessed the same physical presence as Bruce did. Dick and Jason, too. But Barbara felt no unease then, but for the wariness all women felt when in the presence of such a blatant predator. She'd taken down foes bigger than her before. Westfield was no different. Barbara knew that she would be the man's undoing. It was only a matter of time.

"That doesn't mean they're members." He told her. She could practically feel his voice rumbling in his chest. "It just means they're dating someone who is."

"Okay then..." Barbara leaned closer. There was less than an inch between them now. She drummed her fingers softly against the solid slab that was his chest. "Tell me, Mister Westfield. Suppose a curious gal like me wants a closer look at one of those rings. How could she make that happen?"

"It's like I said. She should make nice with a guy who's wearing one." He wanted her to make the first move. But even with so much on the line, the fate of the mission - of Helena - at stake, Barbara was loath to play into his hand.

He was looking down at her, his gaze hungry... And expectant. Handsome face, gorgeous blue eyes, and that killer smile. They drove Barbara mad. Furious.

Why doesn't this fucking bastard just take the bait already? Take a bite, damn it!

It was beneath her dignity as a woman. As a superheroine. Batgirl wasn't going to make the first fucking move. Not a chance in hell.

"Hm. A guy like you?" She was pressed up against him now, her arms hooking around his neck. Her modest breasts, all snug in her turtleneck, flattened delightfully - disgustingly into his broad, firm chest. There was no doubt as to what the mousy Ms. Morgan was after.

"That's what I was getting at, yeah." A tremble wracked across Barbara's slim figure as his hot breath crept across her skin, her lips. She felt his strong, thick arms wrap around her thin waist. She felt his hands, his fingers through the fabric of her sweater. Any other woman would have felt trapped. Caught. But not Barbara Gordon. Not Batgirl. No, she was exactly where she wanted to be.

Westfield kissed her first, to the benefit of Barbara's pride. He darted down quickly and ensnared her lips with his, using his arms to pull her body flush against his. It was a deep embrace, nearly suffocating. Westfield was dominating the connection, devouring her moans, like he was trying to steal the precious air from her lungs.

At first, Barbara felt a flash of fury. A near-overpowering urge to... To do something. Anything. Break his nose or his jaw. Rake her nails across his stupid, handsome face. Poke his eyes out. Knee him in the groin.

But she knew she still had a role to play. She was still undercover, still on the job. So instead of putting the hurt on Andrew Westfield, she put the sweet on him. She melted into his arms, accepting his prying tongue into her mouth. She accepted his wolfish hunger and returned it in kind.

It was vile. Disgusting. Necessary. That was what she told herself. A storm of feelings, sensations, and emotions whirled through her mind. But above all, there was a single word that rang through her head. And with that word came a shocking sense of pride and satisfaction. Even as she wiggled and squirmed in the beast's arms, she felt it booming deep in her mind.

Success.

They were moving then, the two of them. Westfield was on the offensive now, easily leading them with his superior size and strength. Barbara was on the backfoot, nearly tripping over her feet as he pushed her back against the opposite wall. She was pinned. Trapped.

All part of the plan.

He deepened the kiss, reaching up with one hand to run his fingers through her long, red hair. He pressed further, his mouth demanding more. And she gave it to him, pushing back against his assault to give him more. More tongue, more moans, more woman than she was sure he could handle.

Their bodies pressed so close together, she could feel how solid he was, how indomitable. First string varsity, she reminded herself. Best shape of his life... A damn shame you're part of the Brotherhood. What a waste of a man like you...

Westfield was indeed way taller than her. So much so that his groin was pressed to her lower belly. Barbara could feel him. The real him. The manhood that she glimpsed the other day, the big fucking cock that had ensnared two female teachers into its thrall.

Hard, Barbara knew as she felt the unmistakable bulge of his arousal. Hard as iron. Red hot iron.