BATGIRL: WHOLE LOTTE TROUBLE

[ This is an AU story about if things in BAE had gone another way... ]

Barbara’s sigh is deeper than the chasm at the heart of the Cave. The image on the Computer’s main screen is of poor quality, but only Harley would wear a big hat like that and think it was a disguise, particularly on Arkham grounds.

Light from the screens of the Computer bathes Barbara and Alfred. “Which camera got this?”

Alfred is troubled; it’s not lost on him that this doesn’t add up. “Gatehouse. East side.”

Barbara rubs her chin. “This isn’t right. She has to know about these cameras.”

“One would think.”

“Is she planning to break Joker out, or is this a trick?”

“One hesitates to speculate, although your program to scrub police reports for recognizable names did find this.” Alfred leans forward to tap a few keys. A digital report straight from GCPD’s system appears.

Barbara adjusts her glasses and squints at the crudely written sentences, indicating that a caller from the Four Seasons suspected seeing Harley Quinn in the lobby. It’s not implausible; Harley really isn’t good at disguises. The Four Seasons, though? That doesn’t seem right.

Barbara sighs again and drops into the Chair, opening a command prompt. It’ll be quicker to follow this up than to stand around and debate about whether it’s worth following up. She hacks into the Four Seasons and pulls a guest list with credit card information. A card is needed to book a room, so it’s a simple matter to run the cards and see which ones belong to real people. Harleen Quinzel doesn’t have anything issued in her name anymore. She probably mugged someone and is using their card; it should be easy to run that against GCPD records and see who’s lost a card recently. Harley doesn’t kill people when she’s operating solo, so if she robbed someone, they’ll have made a police report. The card with a matching report will get Barbara a room number.

A name catches her eye as she scrolls the list of guests. Alfred senses the change in her. Then he spots it as well.

“Lotte de Wit.” He folds his hands behind his back and gives Barbara a sidelong glance. “Coincidence?”

“Not likely.”

“Have we reached a decision about Ms. De Wit yet?”

Barbara’s gaze is frosty. “What decision would that be, Alfred?”

“Shall we think of her as an ally?”

“She’s a victim of Seed. She just isn’t handling it as gracefully as I am.”

Alfred smiles. “Very good, Ms. Barbara.”

She holds his gaze. “Don’t look like that. You don’t get it. First, you aren’t a woman. And second, you don’t understand what this does to your head. You think I won’t stand here and lecture you about brain chemistry, but I will.”

“Ms. Barbara, I assure you, I respect that exposure to certain things can affect one’s objectivity in the field. How many years did I watch Master Bruce let himself be gassed over and over by his adversaries because he was too vain to make a respirator part of his costume?”

“It’s complicated.”

“As it was with Talia and Selina and so forth. You needn’t worry, Ms. Barbara. That ground is well-trod.”

Barbara bristles. “Are you suggesting that Lotte is my Talia? Because that is absurd.”

“Certainly not. Talia’s rich. How will you proceed?”

“I have to get out there. Get my suit.”

“You mean to pay a call on Ms. De Wit? In her hotel room? Perhaps there is a more appropriate costume.”

Her nostrils flare. “Alfred!”

“Very good, Ms. Barbara.”

BATGIRL

With a zip and a whisper of her cape, Barbara grapples to the roof of the Four Seasons. Gotham glows in the chilly evening as she vaults the railing and turns to scan the dark red sky, where no fewer than three GCPD blimps hover, searchlights sweeping. They look impressive, but the data don’t show significant deterrent effects on street crime, certainly not enough to justify the expense. And to people like Roxy Rocket, those blimps don’t even qualify as annoyances. Barbara wishes the mayor wouldn’t spend taxpayer money so frivolously.

She disables the alarm and picks the lock, letting herself into the upper maintenance level and moving quickly without a sound. In seconds, she’s emerging from the stairwell on the twentieth floor.

A woman pulling a rolling suitcase despite the late hour pauses at the sight of Batgirl in full gray costume striding down the corridor. Barbara gives her a quick smile as she passes, pretending not to notice the way that the woman’s gaze snaps down to Barbara’s bulge. There’s nowhere to hide in a skintight costume, and witnesses can’t be helped in situations like this.

Barbara inserts the room card that she has prepared for the Tribeca Suite. The fragrance of roses and champagne tickles her nose as she enters, stun grenade in hand.

There’s no ambush waiting. At least, not the kind with guns and knives.

Lotte De Wit lounges on a curved sofa near the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows, holding a glass. Her long, blonde hair is down, and she wears a filmy robe that clings to her slender figure and displays plenty of pale cleavage.

Barbara’s heart sinks. She hates it when she’s right.

Lotte’s gaze runs up and down Barbara’s body appreciatively as she approaches.

“You look nice,” she says, her Dutch accent giving her an unfairly sexy, exotic vibe that she absolutely has not earned.

Barbara stops with her hand on her hip. “I guess I like you better like this.” The last several times that they’ve run into each other have been in the field, usually with bullets flying, and Lotte in her own costume. “You used Harley as bait to get me here. What do you want?” This is an escalation; Lotte’s never mixed with heavy hitters before.

“You know what I want.” Lotte takes a sip. “I told you three weeks ago. Warm me up.”

“We were frozen in blocks of ice.”

“All the more reason.”

“I had to stop Fries.”

“It seems like you always have to do something.”

“I love that you think that we’re friends.”

“You have not exposed my identity.”

“You haven’t crossed the line. Yet. What are you doing with Harley?” Barbara has more questions, but the elegance of Lotte’s little maneuver has her annoyed. Lotte is, in the scheme of things, very new to wearing a costume around Gotham. But she is obnoxiously good at it for someone without Bruce Wayne’s training or resources. She has her own mission, and is quickly carving out her own brand and moving into the major league.

Barbara’s not ready to unpack her thoughts and feelings about any of it.

“I’ll tell you if you take the night off,” Lotte says, examining her nails. “Do you think about me as much as I think about you? Be honest.”

Barbara grimaces. “That happened because of Poison Ivy’s pheromones. You’re just lucky it was me with you and not Croc or Bane.”

A little smile crosses Lotte’s face, and her eyes flick to the side. “Interesting thoughts.”

“Why were you after Fries anyway?”

“Lucius Fox of Wayne Enterprises made a pledge to cure and revive Nora Fries if Victor would stop, but Victor doesn’t trust anyone.”

“So what? You want to kidnap Nora and give her to Fox?”

“Maybe she consented to being frozen, but her wishes are clearly no longer Victor’s priority. He’s setting an example of power and control over his wife that has to be challenged. She’s a human being, not his excuse to give into his darkest instincts. I will free her and then we will see who Victor Fries really is. I hope I’m wrong about him.” Lotte sets her glass aside and stands up. “And you won’t stop me because you know I’m right.”

“Fries has been stuck in that suit for a long time. There’s no telling what it’s done to his brain physiologically.”

“I don’t care about him. I care about the example he sets.”

“And the example that the Joker sets? With Harley as his dutiful, submissive accessory?” Barbara folds her arms. “What’s the plan, Lotte?” Lotte’s war against patriarchy has evolved considerably since her messy early days in the wake of Seed.

“I’ll tell you if you take the night off.”

“You want me to believe you did all this because you wanted to see me?”

Lotte drops her robe, and Barbara swallows. “You do believe it.”

Barbara takes a deep breath as Lotte approaches, her nude body luminous in the soft light. She makes an effort not to look at the cock hanging between Lotte’s legs; it’s just as big as Barbara’s, and Lotte is totally shaved down there. She looks incredible. “I’m not having an affair with you, Lotte.”

“No. You’re working,” Lotte says it with a tinge of amusement. “You want to know where Harley is, and you have to convince me to tell you.”

Barbara can’t help herself. She snorts and shakes her head. “Seems like you aren’t so mad about Seed after all. Seems like you’re enjoying it.”

“I was never upset that it existed. Only how it was used.”

Yes. And Lotte’s having some success in deterring that sort of behavior: people using Seed to ‘punish’ women that they have grievances with by giving them an unwanted penis. Anyone even accused of doing so has a good chance of receiving a visit from Lotte in her costume.

Lotte circles Barbara, who holds her ground and keeps her back straight. She comes around in front and moves close. “Batgirl, this will be the most you have ever enjoyed getting information from a suspect.”

Barbara scowls. “Sure. All I have to do is take off my cowl, huh?”

Lotte kisses her, and Barbara doesn’t resist. Lotte’s read on her, of course, is dead on. She’s gentle, but Barbara welcomes her tongue. Lotte’s fingertips rest lightly on Barbara’s waist, and even that feels terrifyingly good. When the kiss ends, Barbara is pink and breathing a little more heavily.

“No.” Lotte touches Barbara’s belt. “Just these.”

Barbara’s brain still works, and she knows a bad idea when she hears one. Suddenly Lotte is behind her, kissing her exposed neck and playing with her hair. Lotte’s hands squeeze Barbara’s breasts, and Barbara feels Lotte’s erection back there.

She finds herself by the window, turning her face to needily return the kiss. She wishes her hands weren’t gloved so that she could properly feel Lotte’s body, but her gloves aren’t coming off. She is not going to remove her costume. Frustrated, she presses her palms against the glass and growls as Lotte grinds against her, almost humping Barbara’s rear end.

“Let me fuck you, and I’ll tell you everything,” Lotte whispers in her ear.

Barbara’s breath fogs the window. She clenches her jaw. “Make it quick,” she mutters.

Lotte nibbles Barbara’s earlobe, making her shiver as she undoes Barbara’s gray pants and pulls them down just enough to expose her ass. She rubs her cock against the flesh, pushing it between her cheeks and moving it up and down.

Barbara glances down at her cock, which is upright and rigid, pointed at the window.

Then they’re fucking. Lotte’s vigor shows how ardently she wants Barbara, and that feels as good as her dick does. Barbara covers her mouth with her hand, absolutely unwilling to make a sound, although there’s plenty of wet noises where their bodies meet.

There’s glare in the window. Barbara can see the sharp contrast between her pale skin and her costume. Her cock is out and bouncing with each thrust, flinging clear drops across the glass. The costume’s Kevlar doesn’t stop Lotte from squeezing Barbara’s breast hard. It feels so good that it’s a little scary. Barbara slaps her hand against the window and grinds her teeth. Lotte pushes in and stops, hugging her tight, and letting out a warm sigh against Barbara’s neck.

“OK,” Barbara says through her teeth. “Don’t you have something to tell me?”

Lotte nuzzles her affectionately. “Let me finish inside you.”

Face hot, Barbara turns give Lotte a look, but Lotte doesn’t give her the chance. She kisses Barbara deeply and starts thrusting again urgently.

“Mmmm!” Barbara moans as Lotte’s hand slides up to her neck. Then her arms wrap around Barbara and squeeze. Lotte groans and holds on tight.

The fog on the glass clears, revealing the reflection of Barbara’s startled face. The scene is frozen for a long moment, except for Lotte’s drunk-sounding sigh of satisfaction.

Lotte finally lets go and pulls out. Barbara, suddenly even more self-conscious, hurriedly pulls up her pants. There’s a mess in there, but she can’t easily do anything about that. She’s still hard, and she forces her cock into the costume and fastens her belt, wincing as she turns around to see Lotte pulling her robe back on.

“Where’s Harley?” Barbara asks, gathering some composure.

Lotte joins her at the window and taps the glass. There’s another hotel across the street. “Over there. With a camera.”

Barbara’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t wait to see how sexy you’re going to look in that video. We should watch it together.”

Barbara’s heart rate spikes, but she doesn’t wear the costume because she can’t keep her cool. She squares up to Lotte, trying to ignore the sticky situation inside her costume. “What if I don’t want to watch it?”

“Then you’ll still have to meet with me again if you want to get rid of the only copy,” Lotte replies, giving her a peck on the cheek. “Since you won’t give me your number.”

“I hope you don’t think this is how you get on my good side.”

“It is, though. Give me your number, or Summer Gleeson gets the video.”

“You think things like that get said in healthy relationships?”

Lotte folds her arms and smirks. “You think people in costumes get to have healthy relationships?”

Barbara clenches her fists. “What’s this got to do with your mission?”

Lotte bats her eyelashes. “There’s only one way for you to find out.”

The end...?