When Spidey Met Oracle

"Leave them on," he said.

"Oh, that's right," she grinned. "You wanted the 'naughty librarian'."

That's when it clicked for him. Why this all-business version of Barbara had seemed so familiar. "It was hotty librarian," Peter corrected. "You called me 'weird nervous nerd' -- not much of a compliment, by the way -- and I called you 'hotty librarian'."

"Didn't I make up for that later?" she asked, sliding a hand down his abdomen.

"Nuh-not my point," he informed her, her fingers playing along the web-cartridge belt on his waist. "You were a hotty... not naughty."

"We'll see..." Barbara whispered, grabbing his dick through his tights.

"Okay, n-naughty," he stammered, wobbling slightly. "D-definitely naughty."

"Does... Does that mean I'm not still a hotty?" Barbara asked innocently, tickling his nuts.

Bending over her to kiss her neck, Peter suspected she knew his answer but told her anyway. "You're the hottest, naughtiest librarian, Barbara..."

"Well in that case, I'd better do the job right," she said, snatching a book from the coffee table.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sitting back.

"Oh mercy, this book is just so long overdue, Mr. Parker," Barbara responded. "Maybe somebody needs to teach you to return your library books on time..."

"It'll never happen again, ma'am," Peter swore, getting in on the act as she flipped through the pages.

"Goodness gracious," she gasped dramatically, peering over her glasses as they slid down to the edge of her nose. "Have you been... dog-earing the pages?"

"Please forgive me, Ms. Gordon," Peter mock-begged. "Oh god, how bad are my fees?"

"I'm afraid the fines are quite severe," she primly informed him, righting her spectacles as her gaze grew stern. "Especially since you've damaged the book. Creasing the pages, Mr. Parker? Have you no respect for the printed word? For your fellow library patrons?"

"It's not my fault," he insisted. "I can't afford proper bookmarks!"

"I'm afraid that's no excuse, young man," Barbara said, shaking her head in dismay.

"There must be some kind of payment plan we can arrange," he pleaded. "Maybe I could work it off somehow." Peter set himself over her. "I'm sure you have some shelves that need dusting..."

"Oh brother," she just guffawed setting the book back on the table. "You can't really be that into this..." she started to complain, but it was swallowed as he kissed her. Apparently, he could. This wasn't soft and slow or tentative like before. This was hungry and hot. His hands roamed her body as he explored her mouth with his tongue. Eventually she remembered to do the same, running her fingertips lightly along his arms to his back drawing him close.

That initial urgency slowly faded, Peter taking his time to caress her stomach, but after a while, she needed more. She felt his fingers climb her ribs, just beneath her breasts but no higher. It was like making out back in high school. He'd insisted before that he couldn't wait, but now she could only conclude he couldn't wait to slowly work her up into a frenzy.

Instead of telling him what she wanted, Barbara just pushed him back and started to unbutton her cardigan, hoping he'd pick up on the visual cues.

She was still in the same clothes she'd worn for the presentation at Horizon, so she was dressed to seduce if necessary. Nothing too risqué -- just the things she usually wore when she needed to buy new equipment. A crisp white blouse tucked under a grey cardigan to keep things classy at first, but by the time she got down to negotiating price, if the salesman wanted to play hardball, things tended to go a bit smoother when she slyly slipped out of that sweater. She kept her hair up in a bun that she'd shake out just for a little more of a flourish if she had to go so far as to take off her glasses -- not that most men were still looking her in the eye by that point. Without the cardigan, the black push-up bra she wore for these occasions was fairly visible under her blouse, and Barbara had usually used some of those sly ninja skills of hers to subtly undo a button or two to reveal a tasteful bit of skin by the time she was ready to ditch the sweater.

Sophisticated with the vaguest hint of slutty, she liked to call it...

Despite the careful thought and consideration she'd put into this little production so often before, Barbara didn't take a lot of pride in this kind of thing. She certainly doubted her father would approve of such tactics, though she suspected her other two mentors might. "Whatever it takes to win," Bruce always said. "If I had your figure I'd be running S.H.I.E.L.D. by now," would probably be Waller's remark.

Barbara had worn this more out of habit today than any actual tactical advantage, however, as she couldn't really go the tacky route with the lads at Horizon. Babs wasn't exactly Max Modell's type and she was pretty sure the only interest Uatu Jackson had in anything under her sweater would have been if she'd been wearing her old Batgirl costume. The kid was nuts about superheroes and maybe a smidge too young for a well-bolstered set of C cups to hold much sway -- not that she had any desire to test that theory. She felt icky enough when she tried it on grown men... Usually.

Barbara obviously hadn't expected to run into Peter Parker today, but she was suddenly so glad she was wearing this right then. She vaguely wished she'd gone for the black pencil skirt and high heels instead of the corduroy slacks and sneakers, but given the laid-back atmosphere at Horizon, she thought an upscale geek casual look was her best bet on blending in. But it certainly seemed that this whole hipster chic sultry schoolmarm thing was still doing it for him.

Good lord. Had she based this whole ensemble around him?

The first time she met Parker at Gotham City Public Library, this was basically what she'd been wearing, she recalled -- minus the minor fashion faux pas of a black bra under a white shirt -- and young nervous nerd guy had just seemed so smitten. It wasn't the first time some random patron had taken a shine to her on the job. On those rare occasions when it happened before, she had only just grown out of her lonely gawky years and still felt this stupid, desperate gratitude that someone thought she was pretty, but with Peter it was different. She had finally come into her own. Not just as Batgirl, but as Barbara herself. That night at the library with him was maybe the first time she'd realized the power she held over some men when she was all dolled up. She realized she had a choice.

Hell, she turned him down when he asked her out, hadn't she?

Of course, that had been out of good sense and decorum. She'd assumed he was some high school kid, and she hadn't been wrong. Besides, she had a long night ahead of her watching over Gotham... Yet despite all that, a few hours later, he was tearing her pajamas to shreds before eating her out at her emphatic instruction. Perhaps naughty librarian had defined her perfectly right then, but things were different now -- Peter Parker was a grown man and she was a long way off from that young woman just coming into her own...

"You can't just rip my clothes off this time," she told him, unclipping her hair before she carefully folded her sweater and placed it on the coffee table. "I need this outfit for work."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, untucking her blouse and deftly unfastening the bottom button. His fingers seemed to work well enough now, Barbara noted as he went to work opening her shirt, exposing the toned expanse of her midriff. He stopped to kiss the pale, creamy skin under each button as he made his way up. It wasn't just that he'd clearly shaken off the last of his numbness. That first time in her old Gotham Heights rowhouse, when he'd opened the top of her jim-jams, his hands were shaky, like he was scared.

Back then, this was a guy who'd faced down the Hulk on two separate occasions, but he'd seemed terrified to touch her, which Barbara had found almost as adorable as she found it thrilling. She felt completely in control in that moment. That had obviously changed. He had changed. His hands were so steady now as he undressed her. Maybe this was why she'd never reached out to him after that morning, because now here she was and it was like the whole dynamic has shifted. What if all the magic between them had been used up that one night?

"You're different than I remember," she said softly.

"Well, it's been, what, seven or eight years?" he asked, drilling his tongue into her navel. "A guy has to grow up a bit, doesn't he?"

"I-It's not just that," she frowned as he continued his ascent. "It's something else."

"Is it bad different," he asked, working the last button, "or good different?"

"I'm not sure yet," she replied as he kissed between her breasts. "Just... uh... g-give me a second to think..."

"Okay," he nodded pulling her shirt open. "I'm just going to take off my pants while you mull it over. You just tell me when you've figured it out..."

Barbara hadn't taken the time to deal with the cuts on his legs, but as he stood up and dropped spider-trou, she saw now that they'd been rather superficial. They only looked like burns because his tights had been charred, but the skin underneath had little more than a sunburn. Her eyes rose to the bulge thickening in his boxer briefs as he undid his little utility belt, letting it fall to the floor. His underwear quickly followed and he climbed back onto the sofa right after peeling them off.

One look at his hard shaft was all it took for her to make up her mind. Yes, she could definitely work with this new, superior Spider-Man...

Barbara felt a fluttering twinge of nervousness she couldn't explain right then. It wasn't her first time, obviously, and it wasn't even her first time since the Joker had shot her, but it had been a while. God, not since J'onn.

After she'd been paralyzed, when Barbara eventually decided she wasn't done fighting crime, she'd been trained by Richard Dragon, a former thief turned world-class martial artist. The idea was for her to learn eskrima, the Filipino art of stick fighting, because after a run-in with a particularly malicious cyber-thief, she knew she had to find a new way of defending herself. Of course, as all these kind of quests often went, she ended up learning much more than she set out to at first. Dragon didn't just teach her how to fight without her legs if she needed. He taught her to accept that her body had changed -- how to shift her focus from living in spite of her paralysis to living with it... A seemingly meaningless distinction to some, but a whole new world for someone who actually does it.

Maybe things had gotten out of hand. One minute he'd been leading her through some deep breathing and meditation after testing her Baliog Pomali technique during their last session together, the next they were tumbling around the matted floor of a dojo he'd borrowed from the Sons of the Tiger and Barbara finally realized that physical relations with a man weren't as off the table as she assumed because of her injury. It had only been a one time thing, and Barbara was a little embarrassed, which is why she'd only ever told Dinah about it. Still, that had been an important step in her recovery. Up until then, Barbara just knew that she had to move on, but it still seemed like this impossible task she'd be puzzling through for the rest of her life. That afternoon with Richard showed her it'd be a long process to be sure, but one made up of a lifetime of simple steps... Like each long and lingering kiss Peter had made up from her belly to her breasts.

Peter, now pantless, picked up more-or-less where he'd left off, pressing his face into her breasts. As he trailed his way to her shoulder and then to her throat, Barbara remembered that the greatest of Dragon's lesson was to live in each moment. Before she'd been shot, sex had always been at least partly about getting where she wanted to go or worrying that she wouldn't, but afterward, whenever she was intimate with someone, Barbara managed to let all that go and stay present.

Peter's fingertips on her skin felt rougher than she remembered. The slight rasping of all those hard little calluses from a decade of scaling brick walls were a complete contrast to the soft warmth of his trunk flush against hers. She focused on that and the thrum of a moan rising up her throat as he squeezed one of her breasts. When she felt his other hand slide beneath and behind her open shirt, reaching for the clasp of her bra, that was the limit.

"Not just yet," she scolded, playfully slapping him away. "Juh-just keep doing what you were doing."

Barbara certainly hadn't meant for him to halt his slow and sensuous trek up her neck with his lips, but when he kissed her chin briefly before completely reversing track, she was intrigued. He kissed down her chest, his fingers running down her arms, drawing her shirt sleeves along with them as he shuffled down. Peter paused briefly as she slipped free of her blouse before he started back down each ridge of her ribcage to the ticklish length of her waist. He sat back and turned to tug off her shoes -- a pair of simple white canvas low tops. Babs remembered the brand being rather comfortable, not that this mattered much to her these days.

"You're not going to stop me doing this, are you?" he asked, unbuttoning her slacks after flippantly tossing her shoes and socks over his shoulder. She just shook her head no. Peter grinned as he slipped the corduroy down her legs and Barbara looked away as he bared her legs.

Oh god, she groaned internally, remembering suddenly that she was wearing grey granny panties -- the one grievous chink in hotty librarian's sophisticated-with-a-hint-of-slutty sexual armor. Despite the relative insensitivity to that part of her body, she could feel his stare sear into her drably cotton-covered nethers. She had racier panties, of course... Things she used to wear when she was with somebody, but at the end of the day, Barbara had never been the type to go out into the world in a thong, so she tended to just slip on something functional. Besides, the whole point of this little ensemble was the suggestion of sex. Presenting a little eye candy was one thing, but it's not like she'd actually blow some guy at Circuit City for an extra %15 off the asking price of a new motherboard, and believe it or not, she'd never actually had a relationship with anyone else who was into this whole librarian thing.

Not that Dick hadn't had a fun kink or two. She might have dolled herself up in his old Blüdhaven police blues a few times, but the former Boy Wonder had always managed to ply her with a bottle of high end pinot and the best Spaghetti alla Carbonara in Gotham before Patrol Officer Babsy McNaughty made an appearance... And there was just something about snapping those cuffs on his wrists that really just did it for her.

Right now, stone cold sober with a man she hadn't seen in person for almost eight years was a different story.

"Not exactly sexy, right?" Barbara murmured covering her face with no small amount of embarrassment. She bet that Mary Jane Watson, supermodel-next-door, always wore sexy panties...

"I think you pull them off nicely," Peter said, caressing the sides of her thighs just below the hem, "and whether you agree or not, I know I'm going to." His hands slipped under the shapeless grey cloth and up until he reached above her hips. Barbara gasped as Peter's sandpaper fingertips brushed her hips at just the edge where she lost sensation before he stretched them outward to loosen her briefs. She finally looked down to see a dark wet spot on her panties as she watched him draw them down her thighs, unveiling her pussy. Barbara gaped in horror at the damp clump of red hair framing her puffy pink lips. In the heady rush of lust swimming in her mind, she'd managed to forget about this, too, but the sight was undeniable.

There was no way the Heidi Klum wannabe let her bush grow this hairy.

"Probably should have shaved," she winced, somehow even more embarrassed than before... more than she ever thought she could be. "Let me go shave," she pleaded, trying to sit up to push him back. "Or we... We could do it together even..."

"Stop it," Peter insisted with a ragged sigh before he kissed the center of her mossy red beaver. "I told you, Barbara... I can't wait."

Peter figured this was one of those insecurities she'd mentioned before, but it just seemed so silly to him. He could certainly understand how she might be self-conscious by some of the changes to her body since they'd last met, but her panties and a bit of hair? How shallow was he supposed to be? Did she really not know that she was the woman he'd been waiting to be with again his entire adult life? "You are so fucking sexy, Barbara Gordon," he assured her.

Her cheeks burned as he stroked the furry bit of soft scarlet with his fingers, the hair soaked and matted. She still got wet when she was turned on. Barbara knew that every female paraplegic wasn't so lucky. "So goddamn gorgeous." Barbara watched him lick her pussy. "Gorgeous and juicy, too." She couldn't feel his lips on her flesh, but she felt a flush through her chest at his words all the same. This wasn't just flattery. She could tell that he meant it.

"You're just the sweetest little pervert, Peter Parker," she grinned as he proceeded to kiss his way back up her body all over again. There was this snarky, cynical part of her that wanted to tell him he'd done all this before, but none of that mouthy sarcasm spoke to the pure, silent joy of being desired, or understood that she lived and loved in each moment now.

Peter looked up at her expectantly as his fingers played along the edge of her left bra cup, begging to peel it down, but Barbara shook her head no again. If he was disappointed by her denial, he didn't show it, straddling her hips and bending over her breasts to return his lips and attention to the exposed flesh before him. His tongue plunged into the expanse of her cleavage.

"Mmm... yes," Barbara whimpered, coaxing him on with a fist gripping his hair. She reached down between them to stroke his cock with her other hand, still grimy from when she'd treated his burns. She vaguely hoped that working down from his head to his balls might not work him up too much, but from the way he pulsed and twitched in her grasp, she'd clearly been fooling herself. Shifting as little as possible so Peter could still feast on her breasts uninterrupted, she grabbed the jar from the coffee table, slathering her hands so she could continue to coat his dick.

As distracted as he was with her tits, Peter couldn't help but wonder why she seemed so intent on this. If his pertinent equipment had been seriously burned, none of this could be happening, but there she was, smearing every inch of his swelling erection nonetheless. He remembered her saying there was another use she'd found for that balm of his, but judging by the sweet, tangy taste lingering at the back of his throat from his earlier attention, lubrication wasn't going to be an issue for what he had in mind. He still wasn't complaining, of course. Peter Parker just had an enquiring mind. But as Barbara palmed the head of his cock with a liberal handful of goo, certain idle curiosities escaped him in a lurching surge of phallic-centered felicity.

His mouth pressed into her skin with an increasing intensity that eventually peaked when it settled over her cloth-covered teat and he greedily sucked through the satin and foam. "Oh... Ohhhh... Oh yes," she purred at the sudden suction. "F-fuck... Peter..." she groaned, "I... I w-want you to fuck them."