When Spidey Met Batgirl

"Me too," he told her, scrambling out of the passenger seat. "Really. I wish I could have stayed for breakfast."

"Promise me you'll look me up the next time you're in town and I can forgive you."

"Absolutely," he shouted over his shoulder as he ran into the station. He just made it to the train before it pulled out.

Looking back on it now, Gordon was surprised by his actions. In spite of the affair that'd ended his marriage all those years back, he'd never really been much of a womanizer. And he certainly figured those days were behind him. Jean was maybe a few years older than his daughter, Jim shuddered to think. Because with that observation came an uncomfortable realization:

There was no telling what shenanigans Barbara had gotten herself into while he was gone.

*

Barbara had no goddamn clue what she'd gotten herself into.

When she woke up that morning, there'd been a hand on her breast and a hard cock smearing oily pre-cum on her hip, both courtesy of the sleeping teenager beneath her. She barely had the chance to wonder how she'd made such a terrible mistake last night before Peter woke up and she found herself making it all over again. And then again.

"Oh god, it's almost 11," she said, pulling on the shirt she'd given him the night before. "I have to pick up my fath -- um, my friend from the train station at 12:30."

"Can't move," Peter mumbled. "Too tired... sore..."

"You just rest up then, nerd boy," she laughed. "You've got half an hour."

She ran down to the basement to retrieve his costume, which she left for him in the guest room. Then she made a quick check through the house for evidence. Growing up, Barbara had always been the good daughter, so it felt weird, at twenty-three, to be running around to make sure that her father didn't find out she'd had a guy over while he was away.

Let's see... I put back all the personal photos and flushed the condom, she thought to herself, keeping inventory. And I guess I'll just burn the sheets in the guest room.

She was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth and minding her own business when her errant and insatiable houseguest appeared in the mirror behind her, cupping her breasts over her father's t-shirt.

"Geez, Pete," she murmured, her nipples growing hard as he pinched them between his fingers. "I could have sworn I fucked you thoroughly into submission this morning. Haven't you had enough?"

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The tip of his hard cock rubbing against her slit while he kissed her neck was all the answer she needed.

"Oh god," she hissed as the head of his dick slipped forward. "You're -- ah! -- you're wearing a condom, right?"

"Maybe if you weren't so wet you could tell," Peter said with a smirk, seizing her hips as he pushed into her.

"Pete?" she panicked, bracing herself on the sink as he started pumping into her. "Are you -- oooooooh -- are you wearing a -- uuuuhhh -- wearing a condom?"

"Do you really -- hah! -- really care right now?" he asked between grunts.

"Oooooooh yes!" she cried.

"Do you -- uhn -- want me to stop?"

"No! Don't stop!" she whimpered. "Unless -- mmmmm -- Unless you're - ah! ah! ah! -- not wearing a rubber."

She waited, but he didn't answer. He just fucked into her silently, filling the depths of her pussy with his plump, pulsing prick. And the longer he did, the more she found herself lost between the tension of pleasure and uncertainty.

"Oh gaaaawwd, Peter," she moaned, pushing back to meet his thrusts, "tell me, please... ah! oh!... please t-tell me..."

He leaned forward, his lips brushing her cheek before finding her ear. "Yes," he whispered.

"Oh thank god!" she shouted. She could enjoy this.

Because while Barbara didn't really understand what she'd gotten herself into, that was what made it so damn spectacular.

*

Gotham Central Terminal had become a hotbed of criminal activity over the years. Muggings... drug dealers... the occasional shooting... and then there were the grifters conning tourists and new arrivals out of their possessions right off the train. The first thing Gordon had done when he became Commissioner was to double the uniformed police presence at the station. One of the benefits of this was that crime at GCT had dropped some 20% in the last two months. The other was that Jim didn't have to carry his luggage if he didn't want to.

"Let me grab that for you, sir," a beat cop said just as Gordon stepped off the train from New York.

"Thank you, Officer Driver," Jim replied, handing over his suitcase. "How have things been while I was gone?"

"Nothing much to report here at the terminal," Driver told him as they made their way off the platform. "I heard Batgirl busted the Riddler a couple nights back. And some old bum in a crazy green costume was found left for dead in a mattress store downtown. How was the convention?"

"I had a good time," Gordon said with a smile. "A real good time."

"Glad to hear it, sir." Driver replied. "Do you need a ride home? I can radio for a squad car..."

"No need, Marcus," Gordon told him as they exited the station. "My daughter's picking me up. There she is now."

Gordon saw Barbara waiting in the parking lot, leaning against her little yellow Volkswagen, chatting with a young man he'd never seen before.

"Babs have a new boyfriend, Commissioner?" Driver asked.

"Not that I know of," Gordon replied, and as they approached, the boy sprinted past them, hurrying into the station. Jim could swear he had a shirt at home just like the one the kid was wearing... but that was crazy, right?

"Barbara, who was that guy you were talking to?" Jim asked her while Driver loaded the suitcase into the car.

"Just a boy, daddy," she said. "He needed some directions."

"Sure he did," Gordon replied, rolling his eyes. "There's just something about you that drives these teenage boys crazy. Like that Grayson kid who lives with Bruce Wayne. I've never liked the way he's always staring at you."

"Dick's not that bad," she laughed. "Maybe if he was just a little more mature..."

"Do not finish that sentence," Jim ordered. "I'm an old man, kiddo. There's only so much my heart can take."

"Whatever you say, daddy," she smiled. "Let's get you home."

*

Taking his seat on the train to New York, Peter felt a strange pang of sadness. He'd spent the vast majority of the last day trying to find some way back home, and now that he finally had, he almost didn't want to leave.

"I'll pay you back, Barbara," he'd told her when she gave him the money for the train ticket. "Trust me."

"Don't worry about it," she said as they pulled into the parking lot at Gotham Central Terminal. "It's from the bat-discretionary fund, so consider it payment for services rendered. And by that I mean the superheroics. Not the, uh... the other stuff..."

"It all seemed pretty superheroic to me," Peter grinned.

Barbara just blushed.

He tried to kiss her when they got out of the car to say goodbye, but she turned her head away again. "Not a good idea," she told him. "Lots of cops around here. And they all kind of know me."

Peter decided not to ask.

"So, maybe I could give you a call when I get back to New York," he said. "I was gonna make you wheatcakes for breakfast before I got... distracted. You've got to try wheatcakes sometime..."

She smiled that dazzling smile. "I don't think that's a very good idea either, Pete."

"How did I know you were going to say something like that?" he asked. "It's the name, right? I know the term wheatcakes makes them sound awful, but they're surprisingly tasty with a little butter and syrup..."

"It was really nice meeting you," she said, ignoring him. "I had a wonderful time last night... and, um, this morning..." She blushed again. "It's just that you're going back to New York and to college, and I'm staying here and I'm older and I live with someone and that's complicated as it is and..."

"I get it," he said, cutting her off. "We're headed in different directions." He smiled.

"Exactly," she sighed with relief before taking a quick glance around and spotting an older man and a uniformed cop approaching. Barbara tensed. "Go," she said. "Now. Or things are going to get even more complicated."

He didn't have to be told twice. He took a hard look at the two men making their way toward the car as he ran into the station. Peter figured the young cop must have been her boyfriend and a wave of guilt broke over him.

"Same old Parker luck with the ladies," he sighed, all settled in for the trip back home, complete with a nice little funk of self-pity.

"Anybody sitting here?" somebody asked, disrupting his wallow before it began. Peter looked up to find a pretty blonde about his age hovering over the empty seat across from him.

"Uh, no," he told her. "It's all yours."

"Thanks," she said in a huff, sitting down. "Are you coming back from the Gotham U campus visit, too?"

"Uh, kind of," Peter lied.

The train started out of the station then, and the girl pulled a book from her bag. Lehninger Principles of Biochemistry, Peter thought, noting the cover. She liked science?

He realized then that two things could happen. He could leave her alone with her book (a book he personally felt far inferior to Voet, Voet & Pratt's Fundamentals of Biochemistry: Life at the Molecular Level) and they could make the long journey back to New York in silence. Or he could take a small chance. If he'd learned anything from this whole crazy trip, it was that his romantic adventures didn't have to end with Betty. And they didn't have to end with Barbara either for that matter. His life was only beginning. He realized that now.

"Excuse me," he said to draw her attention.

"My dad's a cop," she told him without looking up from her text. "And he's very very protective."

Peter decided not to let that deter him.

"Sorry," he said. "I was just going to ask if you saw Curt Connor's recent article on cross-species gene therapy in Scientific American."

She looked up from the book then. "You've read Connor's work?" she asked.

"I've actually met him once or twice," he admitted.

"Really?" she marveled, her deep blue eyes twinkling with awe. "What's he like?"

"He's a very complicated man... and much stronger than you'd think," he replied. "My name's Peter Parker."

She closed her book then, setting it on her lap as she leaned toward him and grinned. "Hi, Peter," she said. "I'm Gwen Stacy."

END