When Spidey Met Oracle

"Pretty sure I'm going to need a moment," he sighed, still fighting to catch his breath.

"Whenever you're ready," Barbara smiled. "We've got time." And she realized they did. Sure, they had things to do, but what was the big rush? There were still a few hours left before her father came back into town.

Barbara Gordon was twenty-three-years old, after all. These were supposed to be her fun, carefree years. Just because she was Batgirl now, that didn't mean that had to change, did it? She could enjoy a lazy morning in bed with a guy without the world going to hell, right?

"Okay, all rested," Peter chimed. Before she knew it, he was hoisting her up and playfully tossing her back onto the bed and Barbara had the sinking suspicion this morning might not be all that lazy at all...

*

Looking at her simpering, catatonic friend, Black Canary's first thought was that Babs had been doused with Joker venom. Oracle regularly drilled the Birds of Prey on the methods of the maniac who'd gunned Barbara down on a whim all those years ago. So much so that Huntress complained it didn't make sense for them to know so much about a guy that they never seemed to target. Helena seemed convinced that Oracle was afraid of facing the Joker. She had never actually said it -- which for Helena was huge and just went to show how much she truly respected Babs -- but the thought was there, just under the surface... Dinah could tell.

She could tell, and she knew better. She recognized the difference between hiding from someone because you were scared of what they could do to you and holding yourself back because you weren't sure you could stop before you crossed a line... Oracle never sent them after the Joker because she didn't trust herself not to kill him. Especially not with Huntress on the team. The only guarantee when you faced a guy like him was that it was going to be ugly. It'd be so easy to tell Bertinelli to put a bolt through that sick monster's head in the heat of the moment. Too damn easy. And it's not like Helena was going to stop to question an order like that...

Black Canary didn't want to say that it was nice for all of those briefings to finally pay off. She didn't want to face the clown any more than Barbara, but thanks to those pop quizzes, it only took Dinah a deep breath and a good look at Babs' face for her to realize that Joker poisoning was all wrong for her symptoms. This wasn't the garish rictus grin brought on by the toxin. It wasn't nearly so severe. In fact, there was something almost lascivious about the impish upturn of her lips. And there wasn't that glaze of unblinking terror in Barbara's vacant stare as much as... bliss...?

Black Canary was trying to determine if Oracle had suffered a stroke when her eyes fluttered and Barbara's head shot up in a snap.

"Well, look who's got unexpected company," Barbara murmured. "Hello, sweetie."

"Oh thank god," Canary cried with relief. Oracle wasn't slurring her words -- in fact, she was kind of over-enunciating -- so Dinah was ruling out stroke. "You scared the hell out of me, Bar--"

"I'm going to stop you right there, actually," the redhead interrupted, straightening her glasses on the bridge of her nose. "I'm sure your friend appreciates all this concern, but there are clearly things she doesn't want me to know and I've been really trying to respect her boundaries. I assume that her real name's at the absolute top of the naughty list..."

And just like that, a stroke became a definite possibility again.

"It's not a stroke," Babs assured her, seeming to have read Dinah's mind. "It's just a fugue state precipitated by a teensy-weensy psionic implosion. Nothing to get your knickers in a twist..." She looked down, seemingly distracted by her own chest. "Probably." This last bit had been absently murmured as Barbara thoughtfully cupped her breasts, tenderly squeezing as she considered them carefully... almost weighing them in her hands for a while before finally letting them drop. "I have no idea what O was going on about before," Babs mused, now wiggling her shoulders so her boobs swayed to and fro under her shirt. "Sure, they've filled out a bit with age, but the old girls are still just so damnably perky!"

Things had taken a turn Dinah hadn't expected. "You're not making any sense..."

"No, I suppose I'm not," Barbara sighed, straightening up to let her swinging tits settle. "Best to crack on then. I'm going to require a tether of some sort. Some kind of personal talisman, like a necklace she wears or a ring from a loved one." Canary watched in stunned silence as Babs pushed herself up out of her chair as if trying to stand. "Where should I start looking?" she asked before pitching forward onto the floor with an unpleasant thud.

"Okay," she groaned, looking down at her legs as if noticing them for the first time. "This certainly explains a few things..." Barbara looked up at Dinah. "A little help, darling?"

Dinah still had no idea what was happening, but she knew now that this wasn't Babs. Not really.

"An uptight redhead in a wheelchair," the imposter muttered as Canary lifted her back up into her seat, something the real Barbara would never have asked her. "Christ on a bike! It's like I'm Charles and Jean's homo inferior lovechild!"

"Deadman?" Dinah said, staring into Barbara's blue eyes for some sign of recognition. "Is that you?" Babs had told Dinah how Boston Brand, the undying spirit of a murdered circus acrobat, had possessed her during that space zombie apocalypse. Maybe he had come back for some reason...

"No dead men here, girlfriend," Not-Barbara mumbled, rubbing her shoulder. "Just an Omega-level psychic slumming it in the body of a girl who I just bet epitomizes a nasty little fantasy for a certain Mr. Summers..."

"What did you do to Oracle?" Dinah demanded.

I didn't do anything to her," Not-Barbara insisted. "It's not my fault the prude can't handle her mind-blowing orgasms!"

"You're still not making any sense!"

"Your gal pal flipped out in the midst of a mind-link," yawned the person in Babs' head. "Her mental defenses went up, and I got shunted to the forefront of her psyche while she suffered a minor regressive event that's left her stranded in a memory. If we're lucky, she'll work her way out eventually."

"And if we're unlucky?" Dinah asked.

"The poor girl will wind up in a coma," Not-Barbara shrugged.

Black Canary couldn't tell if the telepath's glib nonchalance was due to some certainty that Babs would pull through, or if he or she just didn't care, but Dinah didn't have a lot of options. "Okay," she sighed. "What do you need me to do? You said you wanted one of Oracle's things..."

"I'm pretty sure the chair itself should suffice," Not-Barbara told her, working the wheels with Babs' toned arms to do a quick spin. "Jewelry tends to work well, but something that represents a major change since that moment she can't get out of is the key. Trapped in her subconscious or not, Little Miss Type-A Personality should still have some sense of this totem." She re-engaged the brake and settled back into the seat. "I'm going back in to see if I can find her. If she doesn't wake up in, say, the next five or ten minutes, be a dear and call a doctor, would you? Cheers!"

Barbara's head drooped down before Dinah could say boo.

Babs didn't look like she was in the middle of some severe mental breakdown. At least, not anymore. She looked like she had just nodded off. That's what Batman had wanted, right? For Barbara to sleep? So far, so good, Bruce.

"To hell with five minutes," Dinah grumbled, scrambling for the console at Oracle's computer array. She didn't know how everything worked, but she should be able to patch herself through to Doctor Mid-Nite at his free clinic in Portsmouth. Maybe. Sheesh. It was bad enough when Barbara had twenty different monitors, but the whole holographic touch screen set-up she'd been using over the last couple of years was just baffling.

"Would it have killed you to stick with a keyboard?" Dinah asked her unconscious friend as she blithely fiddled with the insubstantial control panel. By some miracle, she actually stumbled her way through to the communicator, where she found an open channel to access.

"Oh... oh... ahh..." someone moaned through the sound system.

"Helena?" the Canary said, recognizing the voice. "Huntress, report! Are you okay?"

"I'm hurting reeeeal bad," Helena whimpered, and that wasn't good. Huntress was as tough as they came. She didn't whimper...

"Tell me what's going on," Dinah begged. "Oracle's out of it and I don't have a visual on you."

"There's... there's a machine..." Huntress started to explain, clearly straining to compose herself.

"Okay," said Canary, ready to finally get some real answers. "What kind of machine?"

"It... it hums," Helena groaned. "It h-hums and it... oooohhh... it makes me feel gooood..."

"What do you mean, it makes you feel good?" Dinah asked. "Where is it?"

"I keep it... aaah... in my sock drawer," Huntress told her. "It's my... my personal massager ..."

"Personal massager?" Dinah repeated, confused.

"It's a vibrator, okay?!" Helena screamed in frustration. "You... you've got to bring it here, Dinah. Puh-put it in me or I'm gonna lose it..."

Black Canary looked back at Barbara's still, peaceful form, at a complete loss for words. She wanted to scream, but that would have just toppled Babs' spanking new digs. Seriously, though, what had Oracle gotten them into while Dinah was gone?

*

Barbara had never been the kind of girl who wanted her toes sucked or went wild from the way a guy touched the back of her knee. She figured she liked having her thighs kissed as much as the next girl, but for her, it had always been the anticipation that made that sexy. It wasn't so much about where he was kissing as much as where he was heading. How long he could hold himself back...

She'd never really considered her legs much of an erogenous zone before, but that morning was different.

By the time Peter had made his way up to her knees she was already dripping. He sucked this moisture away as he continued toward her swollen lips. Her legs closed on his head, rubbing against his ears while he lapped at her dewy center. She felt his fingers creeping up from her hips to her belly, on their way to feel up her tits, but she stopped him.

"Nuh-no," she moaned, covering his hands with hers and coaxing them down her body. He seemed to understand, continuing past her hips to her knees, still stinging from the bite of the carpet before, then up again. His fingertips skimmed her warm skin, traveling back and forth along her thighs as he fucked her with his tongue. Barbara dug her heels up and down the length of his back, feeling his rippling muscles with the soft pads of her feet.

"Unh... nuh... gah..." she gasped, rumpling his hair as he ate her out. Peter brushed his nose into her clit, rousing a tremor through her that made her cry out. He squeezed the flesh of her thighs, pulling her into his face as he drove his tongue home and she lost it.

Breathless, her mouth fell open in a silent scream and she felt this flicker of panic when her legs spasmed, no longer hers to control... Like she was suddenly afraid they wouldn't come back. Her hips jerked up on their own as she came. Her juices poured out of her, coating his face and dribbling down her useless limbs. She was helplessly pinned by the tongue stretching the rigid muscles inside as each searing wave ripped into her.

"Woof," she panted, as Peter planted kisses up her quivering tummy, even licking sometimes while she rode out the last fading aftershocks of her climax.

"What the lady wants, the lady gets," Peter said, his lips brushing the bottom of her soft, heaving breasts. "Next up, doggie-style..."

"There is no 'next up'," Barbara insisted, wriggling her way out from under him. "We've both had our fun for the morning, but I'm not that kind of girl." She was fighting a smile, a losing battle it seemed, so she turned onto her side, away from the boy in the bed so he couldn't see the stupid grin she just knew must be plastered on her face. That stupid grin only grew when he sidled behind her.

"You're telling me you're not the kind of girl who likes this?" he asked, emboldened. He'd been so meek before, but he was obviously over that now. His palm lightly grazed one of her bristling nipples while his dick nestled between her cum-slathered thighs. God, he was hard again. Was this just youthful enthusiasm or did spider-metabolism account for Parker's recurrent erections?

Peter's erections. It had been a nice orgasm, but not so great she should be struggling to keep his name straight...

"I... I'm telling you I'm the kind of girl who might need a break," Barbara moaned, wondering just how much of this she was expected to take. As much as she might want to take as much as she could get, she had to be the adult here. She had a mission, didn't she? She had to... to clean this place up before her dad got home...

Despite her unbidden fear earlier, Barbara could, of course, still feel her legs... They were actually tingling now as they sandwiched his cock, now slick with her cum. Her heart quickened when his shaft settled along the cleft of her pussy, slightly parting her lips.

"Dooon't," she whined, crossing her ankles to tighten her legs on his manhood as it slid back, afraid he'd try to enter her. "N-not in me," she begged. "Not without... protection..."

"Okay," he whispered in Barbara's ear. Peter slowly thrust forward, careful to avoid penetration. "Is... is this alright?" he asked her. "Just this?"

"Gawd, yessss," she hissed, squirming as his cock gently sawed in and out between her trembling thighs, still just glancing her cunt and clit. When she'd asked him to stop before, she assumed he'd just turn over and grab one of the condoms from the box on the nightstand, but this was better somehow. Parker was fucking her legs...

Shit. She'd done it again. He was driving her crazy. The least she could do was remember his name...

"Peeeeter," she squealed, reminding herself. She was sure she had meant to think Peter. She didn't even know any Parkers, she realized as he fondled her breast. So why does Parker feel right, too? she wondered. He swept her hair aside, placing a kiss at the nape of her neck and she shuddered. Boy oh boy, did Parker feel right...

No, she thought. Something's wrong...

There was this odd sense of dread. She pushed Peter away so she could sit up, but his fingers found her shoulder, tickling her skin with his weird, spider-powers as he drew her gently back down.

"Don't go," he pleaded. "We don't have to do anything... We can just stay here for a while, can't we?"

Barbara didn't know what to say. She was panicking again but she didn't know why.

"Lay down on your back," she told him eventually, and Peter rolled from his side to comply before she did the same beside him. They couldn't risk snuggling. Barbara wasn't sure if it was because she didn't trust him to behave or herself. Her eyes drifted toward his hard-on, which still hadn't wilted, and she realized with shame it was probably her. She opted to focus on something else, fixing her gaze up and away.

The house had always been so drafty before. She'd often complained to her father about the cold breezes in winter, though nothing ever got done. But now it was like the air wasn't moving at all. Like time had stopped in the world outside that room.

Somewhere deep down, Barbara knew that she had to get up and do something important. She had to shut down the... She had to stop... She had to go get her dad soon...

Somewhere shallow, however, she wanted to do so much more than just lie here with Peter for this still moment in time. She wanted to roll over, wrap her long legs around his waist and forget everything else.

Barbara was just so confused. Where was that... that voice in her head to tell her what she should do?

She could feel Peter staring. "Stop looking at me like that," she blushed, still not daring to look over at him. "It's embarrassing."

"How can you possibly feel self-conscious after all this?" he laughed, incredulous.

"Imagine my complete lack of surprise that you don't understand women," she groused. "I'm embarrassed because of all this. Can you honestly tell me that after today, you're not going to run off back to New York and brag to all your friends how you banged some desperate, lonely skank in Gotham?"

"Of course not," he told her. "I know you don't know me that well..."

"Not really helping with the whole not feeling like a slut thing I'm trying to work through," she groaned.

"I know you don't know me that well," he said again, ignoring her, "but I'm not that kind of guy. And I know I don't really know you, but, well, I am completely amazed by you, Barbara. Absolutely amazed." She got the sense that he wanted to say more, but stopped himself. Then he just quickly added, "And if it makes you feel any better, I don't really have any friends..."

"If you did, you could tell them that, dummy," she whispered. Barbara wanted to kiss him, but didn't. Couldn't. Wouldn't. Instead, her hand found his and squeezed. His fingers fanned out and hers just fell into place shortly thereafter, entwined.

She risked turning to face him and something sad glimmered in his hazel eyes. When Peter wasn't making terrible jokes or playing around -- whenever he didn't think she was looking -- there was always something sad in his eyes. Like there was a hole in his world that he couldn't fill no matter how hard he tried... and he was sorry.

"This isn't real, is it?" he asked her then, and it hit her like a shot to the gut.

"I don't think so," she admitted, suddenly frightened. That sense of dread flooded back through her. She was fighting back tears.

"Hey," he said, squeezing her hand. "Listen to me. We'll figure this out, Barbara."

"Okay," she breathed. "I believe you."

"I think I've had this dream a few times," he told her, "but this feels different."

"This happened before," she realized. "Do you remember what I said to you then? When this was real?"

"'Don't fall in love with me, nerd boy,'" he recited with a small, wistful smile.

"Did you?"

"Maybe a little bit," he confessed.

Barbara couldn't help it anymore. She rolled over and kissed him. She'd kissed him then before and Barbara remembered that kiss. She was pretty sure she'd remember even if her brain wasn't wired the way that it was. Now it was happening all over again. She was melting into him, sighing into his lips. A purr lingered in her throat when his tongue entered her mouth, seeking hers. His fingers threaded her thick scarlet tresses, drawing her ever deeper into this kiss without fathom. Her soft breasts heaved into his sweat-dappled chest. His cock was trapped between them, still hard, still wet from before and now drooling pre-cum.

There was a shift in the room. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. It was as if the colors had brightened. She could feel that old draft in the house now. Peter's arms around her became more real to her somehow, but she didn't know why.

It's not just your memory anymore, something inside her explained. It's his, too, now. You're sharing it, obviously.

This wasn't just some deep conviction speaking to her. Barbara's deep convictions didn't come with that tone of exasperated smugness...

"Frost?!" she blurted out, pulling away and startling Peter. Breaking the spell.