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seriousficTitle: The Best Memory I Have Of You Is Forgetting
Fandom: Birds of Prey
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,771
Characters/Pairings: Barbara/Helena, mention of Babs/Dinah and Helena/Zinda
Summary: After Dinah’s marriage to Ollie, Barbara starts getting obsessive on the Birds. Helena doesn’t like it. And she’s going to do something about it.
Zinda and Helena burst into the Clocktower, Zinda with the Styrofoam cooler, Helena with the keg. “Hey, skipper, we need to use your flatscreen to watch the big game! There’ll be chips and salsa, if you’re interested!”
“She’s never interested,” Helena grumbled. “If she ever got into sports, it would be a fantasy football league. And then, only if there were a way to order around the cheerleaders.”
“Oh, shush up!”
“I had a perfectly good costume and she replaced it with a skintight leader bodysuit. Which she designed herself.”
“That the ‘perfectly good costume’ with the big ‘shoot me here’ cut-outs for the abs?”
“I don’t complain about your skirt, do I?”
“It doubles as a parachute if I crash.”
Helena goosed her.
Barbara hadn’t told them to shut up and get to the entertainment room (where she’d relocated all the “fun stuff” after a mistimed attempt by Misfit to play World of Warcraft on the mainframe), so it was obvious one of them would have to check in on her. Helena held up her hand in the universal gesture for rock, paper, scissors. Zinda stonily pointed at the door to Barbara’s stronghold.
“I let you walk all over me,” Helena muttered as she headed for the door.
Through it, all of the computer monitors were lit up… unusual when none of the Birds of Prey were on missions. One of them was showing Dinah’s statistics, another was cycling through photos of Babs and Dinah together, and the three monitors over Barbara’s console were all running probability matrices.
Helena signed and poked her head out the door to Zinda. “Rain check?”
Zinda tilted her head sympathetically and went to put away the keg.
Helena shut the door behind her. “Yo, Barbara, what’s up?”
Barbara didn’t look at her. “Just a lazy Saturday afternoon. The kind Dinah and I would spend in bed, reading or going through old Tivo recordings or just being together.”
“Or fucking?”
Barbara sighed explosively. “Oh, God, yes. Do I miss that.”
Helena walked up behind her. “So, what’s with the Powerpoint presentation?”
“It’s not…” Barbara pointed to the monitors in turn. “That one is ways I could’ve been a better girlfriend. That one is ways I could get her back. That one is ways to get back at her for leaving me. The computer is sifting through her psychological profile to see which have the greatest probability of success.”
“Barbara, you know I hate it when you get all mind games. There’s gotta be a better way to get over her.”
“Yeah?” Barbara looked over her shoulder. “Like what?”
Helena cocked her hips. “I can make you forget her,” she said, a distinct challenge in her voice.
Barbara looked her up and down, darkly amused, before turning back to her computer. “I doubt that.”
Helena forced Barbara’s wheelchair around. “You think I’m not as good as her?” She gave Barbara the kiss, the pour-gasoline-down-your-throat-and-toss-a-match-on-your-tongue kiss. Barbara moaned a little into it, which was almost audible over their teeth clashing as Helena forced their mouths together. When Helena pulled back, Barbara’s hands were white-knuckled on her wheelchair’s armrests.
“Yeah. That’s what I fucking thought.”
She grabbed Barbara by the lapels and pulled her into a fireman’s carry, dumped her on the Persian rug. Then Helena stripped off her shirt. Her black bra was almost as dark as the scars dotting her pale body, breasts heaving as she took a look at Barbara on her back.
Lying there, nipples erect through her shirt, lips parted, hair fanned out on the carpet… fucking wanting it.
Helena kissed her again, damn near humped her leg in the process. This time Barbara grabbed her and pulled into it, sitting up a little to do things with her tongue to make Helena clench down in her stomach. Frenzied, wild, unhealthy, left a little lipstick smeared on the side of Barbara’s mouth. Helena rubbed it off like she was striking a match.
“Like that, huh?” Helena drawled. Barbara reached for her jeans, popped the belt and yanked down the fly. “Fuck yeah.” In another second Barbara had a hand down there, a finger inside her. Helena threw her head back and screamed. She came back down with a wolfish grin. “Want that?”
She stood up, tugged down her cut-offs in striptease spurts. Even though most of her long legs had already been bared, Barbara followed the shorts down like it was the wrapper coming off something she wanted to eat. Helena’s panties were askew from Barbara’s fingering, but Helena left them on as she stepped over Barbara, haunched down over her chest. She grabbed Barbara by the hair and thrust her between her thighs like her favorite vibrator.
“Smell that,” she ordered, and Barbara defied her by licking right through the cotton. Helena shuddered. “Dinah who?” She stood again. “Shirt, off.”
Barbara shot her an icy glare and Helena quirked an eyebrow. Muttering something dark, Barbara lost the shirt and bra. Her breasts were way too pale, as was the rest of her. Helena reminded herself to book Babs an appointment at a tanning salon. Maybe for her birthday. Did superheroes give each other shit on their birthdays? Even if they were on the same team? Well, if they were goobers like the JSA, probably, but in the real world…
Barbara bit Helena’s heel. “Get down here.”
Helena’s knees hit the carpet to either side of Barbara’s head, a muffled set of thuds that lingered as Barbara pulled the panties high to the side and lost herself in Helena. Her explorations were varied, detailed, charting all the differences from Dinah.
Helena’s mouth opened in a wonder, lips arching as she tried to form the words, then pinching shut as Barbara briefly touched her clit. “MMmm,” she bit down. Barbara returned to it, slipping a finger inside as she overloaded Helena. The brunette pitched forward, spread arms breaking her fall, huffing and exhaling and almost slamming her hips down on what Barbara was creating. Dinah was a fucking idiot.
Barbara’s other hand wandered up Helena’s ass, flattened on the small of her back to press her down at just the right angle. Helena gritted her teeth “Yeah, fuck it!” She rested her sweaty forehead against the coolness of the hardwood floor. “Oh yeah!” Her nipples were chafing bad against her bra. She ripped it off, massaged a breast as she came, screaming, teeth bared, legs pumping against nothing.
Helena sprawled to the side of Barbara’s face, boots still on, panties stretched taut at mid-thigh. She felt like an extinguished forest fire, sparks just under the surface, waiting to catch.
Barbara kissed the muscular thigh Helena was so proud of, nibbled a little behind the knee in a way that was half-affectionate, half leader-of-the-pack. “Take my pants off.”
Helena looked down at Barbara. Authoritative, even more so for the fact that she hadn’t wiped Helena’s juices off her lips. “That an order, sweetheart?”
“Don’t call me sweetheart. Get down there.”
Helena didn’t ponder the consequences if she were to disobey. Not having Barbara’s tongue between her legs ever again seemed dire enough. But there was no reason for her to be an eager little worker ant like Dinah. She got up, stretched, strolled a few yards past Barbara’s legs as she cracked her neck and rotated her back. Not that she was sore, but she knew Barbara was watching, getting hotter, gagging for it.
She turned around, dropped to all fours, and padded over to the carpet. Over Barbara’s prone body, as slow and as surely as a predator coming up to its kill. Barbara trembled. Satisfied, Helena saddled back onto her haunches, breasts proud, chin high, and peeled Barbara’s pants from her waist.
“Cute panties.”
“Thanks.”
Helena mockingly walked her fingers up Barbara’s cold leg. “Where is it you start to feel? Is it this?” She stroked a fingernail down Barbara’s pubis. She watched Barbara’s face for the slightest give as her finger traipsed across the lips of her pussy. “That?”
Barbara put a hand to Helena’s throat. “No more foreplay.”
“Squeeze,” Helena challenged.
The pressure made her gasp, but it was barely hard enough to bruise. Helena slid a finger inside Barbara. The hand didn’t stop squeezing.
“Did you like how I tasted, Babsy?” Helena slid another finger inside, then three. It was getting a bit harder to piston her fingers, and she wondered how much it hurt Barbara.
Barbara licked her lips slowly, deliberately or instinctually, Helena couldn’t say.
“Bitch like you needs a girl like me. I’ll make you come like Dinah never could.”
“Dinah made me feel whole again, Helena.” Barbara made Helena’s name not being Dinah feel like a slur.
“Yeah. But I’ll make you come.”
And Helena lost herself in the perfect ivory whiteness of Barbara’s swan-neck, reddening it with her teeth and shoving four fingers inside her like weapons, watching Barbara lose the authority and the power and the mindgames and just scream it all out into the night.
“Yeah…” Helena laid her wet fingers against Barbara’s stomach. Her teeth were imprinted on Barbara’s neck. She kissed her for as long as she could. “Oh, yes…”
She looked around a bit for her pants, found them, dug the cell phone out. Then she settled against Barbara in an erotic parody of a lover’s embrace, held the cell phone high, and snapped a picture of them together.
“Are you trying to blackmail me?” Barbara asked wryly, almost back to being the God-threatened-by-an-ant except for the lost breath in her voice.
“No.” Helena texted ‘wish you were here’. “I’m sending it to Dinah.”
Barbara blinked. Then she fell back against the carpet with a half-grin. “Thank you.”
Helena tossed her cell phone aside. “Don’t mention it.” Helena picked Barbara up and set her in her wheelchair. “You need any help getting dressed?”
“I can manage.” Nevertheless, Barbara didn’t stop Helena from dropping her clothes into her lap. She started pulling them on, and Helena started walking before she could see the intimate vulnerability of Barbara dressing herself. “Have fun ‘watching the big game’. There’s more beer in the fridge, in case you run out.”
“Give Dick a call. Have him take you out for a steak dinner or something. Jesus.” Helena pulled on all her clothes except her panties, which she left half-under the sofa, where Barbara was bound to notice them.
“Maybe I will.”
Helena kicked her mobile up into her hand. “Send me on a good mission, eh?”
“I will. And Helena?”
Helena, back stiffened, lingered in the door. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t be such a girl.”
Fandom: Birds of Prey
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,771
Characters/Pairings: Barbara/Helena, mention of Babs/Dinah and Helena/Zinda
Summary: After Dinah’s marriage to Ollie, Barbara starts getting obsessive on the Birds. Helena doesn’t like it. And she’s going to do something about it.
Zinda and Helena burst into the Clocktower, Zinda with the Styrofoam cooler, Helena with the keg. “Hey, skipper, we need to use your flatscreen to watch the big game! There’ll be chips and salsa, if you’re interested!”
“She’s never interested,” Helena grumbled. “If she ever got into sports, it would be a fantasy football league. And then, only if there were a way to order around the cheerleaders.”
“Oh, shush up!”
“I had a perfectly good costume and she replaced it with a skintight leader bodysuit. Which she designed herself.”
“That the ‘perfectly good costume’ with the big ‘shoot me here’ cut-outs for the abs?”
“I don’t complain about your skirt, do I?”
“It doubles as a parachute if I crash.”
Helena goosed her.
Barbara hadn’t told them to shut up and get to the entertainment room (where she’d relocated all the “fun stuff” after a mistimed attempt by Misfit to play World of Warcraft on the mainframe), so it was obvious one of them would have to check in on her. Helena held up her hand in the universal gesture for rock, paper, scissors. Zinda stonily pointed at the door to Barbara’s stronghold.
“I let you walk all over me,” Helena muttered as she headed for the door.
Through it, all of the computer monitors were lit up… unusual when none of the Birds of Prey were on missions. One of them was showing Dinah’s statistics, another was cycling through photos of Babs and Dinah together, and the three monitors over Barbara’s console were all running probability matrices.
Helena signed and poked her head out the door to Zinda. “Rain check?”
Zinda tilted her head sympathetically and went to put away the keg.
Helena shut the door behind her. “Yo, Barbara, what’s up?”
Barbara didn’t look at her. “Just a lazy Saturday afternoon. The kind Dinah and I would spend in bed, reading or going through old Tivo recordings or just being together.”
“Or fucking?”
Barbara sighed explosively. “Oh, God, yes. Do I miss that.”
Helena walked up behind her. “So, what’s with the Powerpoint presentation?”
“It’s not…” Barbara pointed to the monitors in turn. “That one is ways I could’ve been a better girlfriend. That one is ways I could get her back. That one is ways to get back at her for leaving me. The computer is sifting through her psychological profile to see which have the greatest probability of success.”
“Barbara, you know I hate it when you get all mind games. There’s gotta be a better way to get over her.”
“Yeah?” Barbara looked over her shoulder. “Like what?”
Helena cocked her hips. “I can make you forget her,” she said, a distinct challenge in her voice.
Barbara looked her up and down, darkly amused, before turning back to her computer. “I doubt that.”
Helena forced Barbara’s wheelchair around. “You think I’m not as good as her?” She gave Barbara the kiss, the pour-gasoline-down-your-throat-and-toss-a-match-on-your-tongue kiss. Barbara moaned a little into it, which was almost audible over their teeth clashing as Helena forced their mouths together. When Helena pulled back, Barbara’s hands were white-knuckled on her wheelchair’s armrests.
“Yeah. That’s what I fucking thought.”
She grabbed Barbara by the lapels and pulled her into a fireman’s carry, dumped her on the Persian rug. Then Helena stripped off her shirt. Her black bra was almost as dark as the scars dotting her pale body, breasts heaving as she took a look at Barbara on her back.
Lying there, nipples erect through her shirt, lips parted, hair fanned out on the carpet… fucking wanting it.
Helena kissed her again, damn near humped her leg in the process. This time Barbara grabbed her and pulled into it, sitting up a little to do things with her tongue to make Helena clench down in her stomach. Frenzied, wild, unhealthy, left a little lipstick smeared on the side of Barbara’s mouth. Helena rubbed it off like she was striking a match.
“Like that, huh?” Helena drawled. Barbara reached for her jeans, popped the belt and yanked down the fly. “Fuck yeah.” In another second Barbara had a hand down there, a finger inside her. Helena threw her head back and screamed. She came back down with a wolfish grin. “Want that?”
She stood up, tugged down her cut-offs in striptease spurts. Even though most of her long legs had already been bared, Barbara followed the shorts down like it was the wrapper coming off something she wanted to eat. Helena’s panties were askew from Barbara’s fingering, but Helena left them on as she stepped over Barbara, haunched down over her chest. She grabbed Barbara by the hair and thrust her between her thighs like her favorite vibrator.
“Smell that,” she ordered, and Barbara defied her by licking right through the cotton. Helena shuddered. “Dinah who?” She stood again. “Shirt, off.”
Barbara shot her an icy glare and Helena quirked an eyebrow. Muttering something dark, Barbara lost the shirt and bra. Her breasts were way too pale, as was the rest of her. Helena reminded herself to book Babs an appointment at a tanning salon. Maybe for her birthday. Did superheroes give each other shit on their birthdays? Even if they were on the same team? Well, if they were goobers like the JSA, probably, but in the real world…
Barbara bit Helena’s heel. “Get down here.”
Helena’s knees hit the carpet to either side of Barbara’s head, a muffled set of thuds that lingered as Barbara pulled the panties high to the side and lost herself in Helena. Her explorations were varied, detailed, charting all the differences from Dinah.
Helena’s mouth opened in a wonder, lips arching as she tried to form the words, then pinching shut as Barbara briefly touched her clit. “MMmm,” she bit down. Barbara returned to it, slipping a finger inside as she overloaded Helena. The brunette pitched forward, spread arms breaking her fall, huffing and exhaling and almost slamming her hips down on what Barbara was creating. Dinah was a fucking idiot.
Barbara’s other hand wandered up Helena’s ass, flattened on the small of her back to press her down at just the right angle. Helena gritted her teeth “Yeah, fuck it!” She rested her sweaty forehead against the coolness of the hardwood floor. “Oh yeah!” Her nipples were chafing bad against her bra. She ripped it off, massaged a breast as she came, screaming, teeth bared, legs pumping against nothing.
Helena sprawled to the side of Barbara’s face, boots still on, panties stretched taut at mid-thigh. She felt like an extinguished forest fire, sparks just under the surface, waiting to catch.
Barbara kissed the muscular thigh Helena was so proud of, nibbled a little behind the knee in a way that was half-affectionate, half leader-of-the-pack. “Take my pants off.”
Helena looked down at Barbara. Authoritative, even more so for the fact that she hadn’t wiped Helena’s juices off her lips. “That an order, sweetheart?”
“Don’t call me sweetheart. Get down there.”
Helena didn’t ponder the consequences if she were to disobey. Not having Barbara’s tongue between her legs ever again seemed dire enough. But there was no reason for her to be an eager little worker ant like Dinah. She got up, stretched, strolled a few yards past Barbara’s legs as she cracked her neck and rotated her back. Not that she was sore, but she knew Barbara was watching, getting hotter, gagging for it.
She turned around, dropped to all fours, and padded over to the carpet. Over Barbara’s prone body, as slow and as surely as a predator coming up to its kill. Barbara trembled. Satisfied, Helena saddled back onto her haunches, breasts proud, chin high, and peeled Barbara’s pants from her waist.
“Cute panties.”
“Thanks.”
Helena mockingly walked her fingers up Barbara’s cold leg. “Where is it you start to feel? Is it this?” She stroked a fingernail down Barbara’s pubis. She watched Barbara’s face for the slightest give as her finger traipsed across the lips of her pussy. “That?”
Barbara put a hand to Helena’s throat. “No more foreplay.”
“Squeeze,” Helena challenged.
The pressure made her gasp, but it was barely hard enough to bruise. Helena slid a finger inside Barbara. The hand didn’t stop squeezing.
“Did you like how I tasted, Babsy?” Helena slid another finger inside, then three. It was getting a bit harder to piston her fingers, and she wondered how much it hurt Barbara.
Barbara licked her lips slowly, deliberately or instinctually, Helena couldn’t say.
“Bitch like you needs a girl like me. I’ll make you come like Dinah never could.”
“Dinah made me feel whole again, Helena.” Barbara made Helena’s name not being Dinah feel like a slur.
“Yeah. But I’ll make you come.”
And Helena lost herself in the perfect ivory whiteness of Barbara’s swan-neck, reddening it with her teeth and shoving four fingers inside her like weapons, watching Barbara lose the authority and the power and the mindgames and just scream it all out into the night.
“Yeah…” Helena laid her wet fingers against Barbara’s stomach. Her teeth were imprinted on Barbara’s neck. She kissed her for as long as she could. “Oh, yes…”
She looked around a bit for her pants, found them, dug the cell phone out. Then she settled against Barbara in an erotic parody of a lover’s embrace, held the cell phone high, and snapped a picture of them together.
“Are you trying to blackmail me?” Barbara asked wryly, almost back to being the God-threatened-by-an-ant except for the lost breath in her voice.
“No.” Helena texted ‘wish you were here’. “I’m sending it to Dinah.”
Barbara blinked. Then she fell back against the carpet with a half-grin. “Thank you.”
Helena tossed her cell phone aside. “Don’t mention it.” Helena picked Barbara up and set her in her wheelchair. “You need any help getting dressed?”
“I can manage.” Nevertheless, Barbara didn’t stop Helena from dropping her clothes into her lap. She started pulling them on, and Helena started walking before she could see the intimate vulnerability of Barbara dressing herself. “Have fun ‘watching the big game’. There’s more beer in the fridge, in case you run out.”
“Give Dick a call. Have him take you out for a steak dinner or something. Jesus.” Helena pulled on all her clothes except her panties, which she left half-under the sofa, where Barbara was bound to notice them.
“Maybe I will.”
Helena kicked her mobile up into her hand. “Send me on a good mission, eh?”
“I will. And Helena?”
Helena, back stiffened, lingered in the door. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t be such a girl.”
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no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 03:54 pm (UTC)...and that's all the coherence my brain can take for now. Be back after I dream Hel dreams. Mmm.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 04:20 pm (UTC)I love this. So much.
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Date: 2008-11-24 09:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 11:01 pm (UTC)Really loved this line, and the way control permeates all of Babs' relationships. Super hot!
no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 11:37 pm (UTC)And I think the biggest compliment I can give is that I'm a boy-who-likes-boys and found this hot.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-25 10:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-29 03:48 am (UTC)Oh right, the sex! Hot stuff, quite enjoyed it, though admittedly I enjoyed the character interaction surrounding it even more.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-28 09:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-28 08:26 pm (UTC)