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When Spidey Met Oracle	By : littleblackduck Category: zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] > Spiderman Views: 37996 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: The Spider-Man universe and characters are owned by Marvel. The Oracle universe and characters are owned by DC. I make no profit from this work. This is a sequel to "When Spidey Met Batgirl." I think you should read that first, but that might just be

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
CHAPTER NINE: One Moment in Mind
There were lots of reasons why the Justice League didn't just teleport all over the place.
Cost was certainly a factor. Despite government funding and sponsorship from supportive corporations like Wayne Enterprises and Queen Industries over the years, the League still had to keep its operating budget within reason and the transporter used a lot of power. Upkeep was a pain in the ass, too. Regular maintenance was a time-consuming endeavor for the few members with the technical aptitude to complete such work.
Sometimes these limitations had to be explained to new Leaguers. When Blue Beetle first joined, he'd suggested a number of ways that the device could be used in combat that seemed practical and innovative. But just like every newbie who was all gung ho about using the JLA teleporter, all it took was one instantaneous trip via randomized atomization for him to change his tune. Because when you got right down to it, for all those perfectly valid considerations, there was really one major flaw with the teleportation system:
It sucked.
It wasn't that it was unreliable. Sure, there had been the occasional mishap, but if you were traveling from one transport pad to another, there usually wasn't a problem. To date, nobody had ever been killed, but in the good old days of the JLA satellite, when teleportation was more or less the only way for most members to get into geosynchronous orbit, there was always that fear in the back of your mind that Ray Palmer or Barry Allen might have misplaced a decimal point or failed to carry a one while calibrating something and you were going to end up in the cold vacuum of space where no one could hear you scream... even if you did have a canary cry.
But again, it wasn't really a problem of accuracy. Teleporting didn't suck because it didn't always get you exactly where you meant to end up. Teleporting sucked because it hurt.
The system was based on technology from Mars, which meant that it was really only designed to work on a certain kind of physiology. Martians were shape-shifters by nature, granting them a certain flexibility when it came to withstanding particle dissemination. Especially when compared to the more rigid requirements of the human body. On Earth, your kidneys really needed to be in the same place they were before you teleported. You couldn't just move things back where they were supposed to be afterwards.
This wasn't a big deal for everybody. J'onn, of course, was fine. So was Plastic Man. Superman could use the device with relative ease, but when you were fast enough you could fly to the sun and back in twenty minutes, teleporting wasn't really doing you a lot of favors. Wonder Woman never complained, but everyone suspected she was just pretending she was perfectly fine having her insides twisted inside out to keep up appearances. None of the mere mortals on the team could teleport without some kind of cramping or muscle stiffness. Even Batman had puked once. And so far, no amount of Kryptonian, Thanagarian, or Shi'ar technical modifications had worked out the bugs.
So the very fact that Black Canary was willing to use the damn thing to beam home to Gotham was a pretty strong indication of just how much she wanted to get the hell out of Japan.
It wasn't like this last mission had been a total disaster. Compared to a typical operation since Dinah Lance had first teamed up with Oracle, it had gone fine. Barbara had explained that S.T.A.R. Labs - Kyoto was tasked with the analysis of mystical artifacts. These were the eggheads convinced that magic was just science they didn't understand yet, filling their lab hours trying to make rational sense out of the occult and arcane. This meant that the Kyoto facility was chockfull of supernatural chotchkes as varied and dangerous as the Book of Eternity and the Cask of Ancient Winters. There was no telling what Norman Osborn had been planning to do with those kinds of resources, but it wasn't much of a surprise that Felix Faust hired Elektra Natchios to breach the lab once H.A.M.M.E.R. was out of the picture...
Elektra wasn't the deadliest martial artist Black Canary had faced by a long shot, but Dinah was still recovering from the beat down she'd taken from her recently self-appointed nemesis, White Canary, which gave Natchios just enough of an edge. And the snobby little poser had been way too smug about the advantage, sticking with that whole tired stoic-silence-in-combat routine, which just pissed Dinah off. Honestly, was there anyone more preposterously pretentious than a Greek ninja assassin at war with the very warrior death cult that trained her? At least Lady Shiva had a sense of humor...
Black Canary managed to keep it together, but Elektra escaped. Granted, she escaped empty-handed, but Dinah didn't like leaving it like that. She knew that disciples of the Hand tended to stay well off the grid, but if anyone had a chance of finding a paper trail and tracking Natchios down, it was Oracle.
So Dinah wasn't really sweating that. It wasn't concern over Elektra that made her eager to get home. It was the phone call from Batman that made her so anxious. The Caped Crusader rarely called anybody, and when he did, it was short and to the point. Usually just a threat assessment and a set of coordinates. The message he'd left on Black Canary's voicemail, however, was downright disturbing.
Her communicator took a hit during the fight. Actually, it had been transformed into a puffer fish when Elektra had gotten her hands on the Staff of Arion for a hot second, but the less said about that the better. Standard protocol was for Oracle to leave instructions how to re-initiate contact on the secured JLA answering system she had set up for the League. Black Canary was checking her messages while a team from the Global Reaction Agency for Mysterious Paranormal Activity secured the location, and right after Barbara left her the new emergency contact number for her to call and check-in, there it was: a long, rambling message from the Dark Knight himself.
"Dinah, this is Bruce," he had said, which was her first red flag. The voicemail system was triple-encrypted and impossible to hack, so Canary had every confidence that whatever message she left for another Leaguer would remain private, but Bats had always been a paranoid nut. He'd never used his real name before. "I'm sorry we haven't had a chance to catch up since my return, but I've had my hands full. I know that's no real excuse, and I'm sorry." An apology? Seriously? This was too much... "I understand that you're taking care of some business abroad, but I'm worried about Barbara," he went on to say. "She's pushing herself too hard with this Osborn vendetta. She won't hear it from me. I don't know. Maybe she still thinks she has to prove herself in my eyes, but you're her friend. I'm hoping you can talk some sense into her. Please..."
When Green Arrow died and came back, Dinah really thought the experience had changed him. She was certain Ollie had realized what really mattered in life, and maybe the two of them would finally have a real chance at happiness. But within a few months of his miraculous resurrection, Oliver Queen was up to his old horndog tricks behind her back... That's when she decided that death didn't really change anything. So the idea that it had some kind of radical impact on Batman of all people was the absolute limit. If Dinah thought anyone could go to hell and back without blinking, it'd be Bruce Wayne. When he announced this Batman Inc. thing, everyone figured this was going to be his excuse to drop the whole vapid playboy façade entirely and fully embrace his grim grittiness.
No one, absolutely no one, thought he was going to get in touch with his feelings. Hell, Wonder Woman was the only one who thought he had feelings that could be gotten in touch with in the first place. But it was like his heart had grown three sizes or something! Dinah could just imagine him carving the turkey at next month's League/Society Thanksgiving dinner, telling everyone in attendance how thankful he was for bulk rate black leather this year, and she shuddered to think.
If the goddamn Batman could actually display some human concern and genuine affection without the usual back-handed compliment or hidden agenda, Black Canary could rearrange her molecules for a few seconds to check on her sister-in-arms. Especially since Oracle hadn't answered when she tried to call. Hopefully, Barbara had finally headed off for some shuteye, but Dinah wanted to make sure the poor girl hadn't passed out in front of the computer again...
Black Canary made contact with the Hall of Justice to arrange transport, and sure enough, when she materialized in Oracle's command center in Kord Tower, she found the hacker unconscious in front of that huge holographic display, slouched in her wheelchair, her glasses askew. It looked like Dinah was right, but when she went to wake Barbara up so she could sleep in her bed, Canary saw that her eyes were still open and there was a slick of drool sliding down Babs' cheek from the corner of this weird, sloppy smile on her face.
That's when Dinah started to panic.
*
It was a rude awakening. The disorienting kind where you don't quite remember where you left things in the waking world and your first thought is what the hell happened?
In her old life, this only really happened to Barbara when she dozed off in the middle of studying at the campus library only to be shaken awake by the night security guard. And then there were those few times a girlfriend or two actually managed to lure her out on a Saturday night armed with tequila shots and the unassailable logic that "This is college!" and if Babs didn't get out every once in a while she was doing it wrong...
After she became Batgirl, however, these awkward awakenings happened a little more frequently. Mostly because she got knocked out more often. During her probationary period in the Caped Crusade, the Dynamic Duo had been a little too eager to dole out the bat-sleeping gas for those little jaunts to and from the Batcave. To say nothing of the fact that you weren't really a seasoned crime-fighter until you'd been brained by some crazy asshole only to come to dazed and confused in an elaborate deathtrap. This was old hat to Babs... which is why she realized that something was wrong the moment her eyes fluttered open.
For starters, she was naked. Barbara didn't make a habit of sleeping in the nude, because she was an actual woman and her life wasn't one of little Dickie Grayson's sordid, hormone-fueled fantasies. The more pressing matters, however, were the hand idly squeezing her boob and the semi-hard-on poking her hip with its oily tip.
It all started to come back to her.
Spider-Man. She'd come here looking for him and then one thing had led to another, which is why she had a teenager unconscious beneath her in the guest room.
Barbara had to get him up and out. They couldn't stay here. There was too much at stake...
Don't panic, she told herself. She was freaking out for no reason. Yes, she needed to wake the guy, Spider-Man... His name was Peter he'd said, right? But as she thought on it now, it's not like they'd done anything wrong.
Getting him up proved easy enough. She brushed his dick with her lips and that did the trick. Hey, she just needed him conscious. There was no reason he couldn't enjoy it.
"Oh daaaaamn," he whimpered. "Nuh-nobody's ever...."
Geez, I think I took his cherry last night, Barbara worried, and this flush rose up through her chest. She wasn't sure if it was horror or pride... And then the wickedest thought crossed her mind.
"Stand up," she ordered, and he looked at her, confused. "Off the bed," she explained.
The groggy teenager tumbled onto the floor and she followed after, landing in front of the nightstand. He's just this young puppy, she realized, kneeling before him expectantly. He's just this dumb, adorable puppy. He eventually got the idea and stood up. Barbara dove right in, grabbing his ass and yanking him forward so she could resume lovingly kissing his tip. She just couldn't help it. She allowed herself one deep, tender lick into his dickhole, salty with pre-cum, and he floundered back into the bedside table.
She gently grasped him at the base of his dick with just her thumb and index finger. She didn't tug on his cock, merely angling it up toward her face. His fingers laced through her hair as she nibbled his crown and his grip tightened when she rubbed his cockhead back and forth with her lips. His hips rolled forward and his prick briefly tickled her throat. She pulled back, then dove forward again, eagerly bobbing the length of his cock with gusto until it throbbed and she forced herself to slow down. She had to draw this out for him, so she went back to treating him with just her tongue. His dick throbbed again, but he understood, releasing her hair and leaning back, letting her set the pace.
She favored his pecker with a few sweeping licks before she engulfed him again, completely in control. Barbara played Peter's prick like a fiddle. Well, maybe more like a sax... She knew when to back off because he was about to lose it. Sometimes, slowing down was enough, but there were times she just had to lay off completely, waiting for his boiling lust to simmer before orally reclaiming his manhood. When she thought he could handle it, Babs sucked just hard enough for her cheeks to cave in on his cock and it swelled, meeting her heat with his.
By the time she decided he was ready for the big finish, Peter was practically shaking with need. She shoved his dick from her mouth with her tongue so she could work his balls, anointing them with long, slow flourishes before sucking one outright. She hummed around his nut and it jerked between her soft, wet lips.
Barbara let the testicle pop free as she fondled his shaft.
"Ah! Ah! I... I ...can't..." Peter groaned, eyes screwed shut, fighting to hold back.
"Yes, you can," she told him in a lusty whisper before drawing him into her mouth once more.
"Oh! HAH!" he cried out. "I... I'm going to..."
"Where do you want to cum?" she asked him. Barbara had never asked a guy something like that in her life. It was too indelicate. Too sluttish and lewd. And honestly, if you invited a guy to choose, you were opening yourself to god knows what. Somehow she figured she was safe enough here. She doubted he was going to ask to smother her face with his man-cream. Right then, though, she might have let him. There was something so thrilling about this... about him... "Tell me where," she implored, almost more to his prick than to the boy himself. The way it billowed out at her, she knew Peter could feel her hot breath. She looked up into his eyes, searching for his answer, but he didn't have words. "Do you want to cum in my mouth?" she suggested, lightly grasping his tight balls. He just nodded.
She realized then, what made all this different. This was the first time in her sex life she wasn't just going with the flow and seeing where it took her. She was in charge.
"Cum for me, Peter," she demanded, sticking out her pretty pink tongue and tapping his dick on its warm, damp surface.
He didn't need any more enticement.
"Oh, yessss!" he hissed, a thick rope of spunk bursting into her mouth. He trembled before her, spewing another seminal salvo as his knees buckled and he slumped against the nightstand. Barbara followed him down to the floor, doing her best to keep his spurting rod between her lips because she couldn't afford the mess. She kept at it, slurping and sucking load after load as his balls spasmed in her hand.
"S-sorry," he huffed once he was spent.
"Don't be," she mumbled around a mouthful of cock and cum before sucking the last lingering glob from his dickhole. She sat up and back from him then, making a big show of swallowing, complete with a little gulp.
"Good morning to you, too," Peter grinned as she crawled toward him.
"Feel free to make it up to me," she teased, cuddling into him.
"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 she 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.
"You're cold?" he wondered, sitting up to wrap her up with the bedding.
"Shush, Parker," she said, shrugging the sheets off. "I'm thinking."
Bits and pieces came back to her. She'd returned to this morning on purpose... With help... And then... Then...
Then you totally freaked over a little cunnilingus between friends and tried to boot me out of your headspace, the White Queen informed her. I see you let the wall-crawler stick around. If you wanted some alone time, all you had to do was ask, dearheart...
I did ask! Barbara recalled.
Well, that wouldn't have been any fun for me, Emma responded. Kudos on maintaining the connection with him in my absence. I'm beginning to think this flashback means as much to you as it seems to mean to him... Maybe more so...
Barbara steeled her mind, knowing better than to rise to Frost's baiting now. Whatever she might have felt about this memory wasn't her business.
Fine, you don't want to share, Emma mentally shrugged. How unbelievably typical... I'm fine, by the way. Tracking you down all over again hasn't completely ruined my day or anything...
Barbara tried to think the words "I'm sorry," but was pretty sure it came out as a weary plea for them to move on. As it so happened, it was next to impossible to telepathically apologize to a psychic when you didn't really mean it...
Just focus on telling Spider-boy whatever you so desperately needed to tell him, Frost sighed, graciously deciding to let it go. Whatever took over his mind hasn't stopped, and I can't hold it back forever. Don't waste all your time on cutesy pillow talk and foreplay...
God. What had Barbara come here to tell him? She knew this wasn't real, and she remembered the White Queen, but there were still gaps... And everything that had brought her back to Peter Parker seemed so long ago and far away...
"The Green Goblin made a machine," Peter murmured softly. "I have to deactivate it before it turns on..."
"It already did," Barbara informed him, now remembering, too. "You couldn't stop it in time and it's active..."
"Just before it hit me I realized how it works," he told her. "The device amplifies resonance in a way that restructures steel into an esoteric mineral with mind-altering properties..."
"Yeah, it's a creepy sex machine, Peter," Barbara said with an impatient roll of her eyes. The more they talked, the more the holes in her mind started to fill. "What are you getting at?"
"It's all based on vibrational frequency," he explained. "If you can broadcast a counter-wavelength over the... the earpiece it might help me stay focused when I get back there... It'd be better if I had two..."
"Take Helena's," Barbara said. "If you tell me what the counter-pulse should be, I can do it."
"Who's Helena?"
"The woman in purple who probably tried to shoot you." Crap. Now it was Barbara spilling the beans on Huntress' identity...
"Oh, right," Peter smiled. "The hot chick."
"All men are pigs," she mumbled.
Don't I know it, darling, Emma mused. Are we just about done here, O?
How do we get back? Barbara asked her.
That's all down to you, Frost explained. You're the one holding all this together. You just have to leave... Barbara looked over toward the guest room door. It hadn't been closed before, had it? Following through with the memory is the easiest way to get yourselves out.
She felt that dread again. Like there was something she was still forgetting... but she couldn't wait to figure it out.
"Oh god, it's almost 11," she said, grabbing the shirt she'd let him borrow and slipping it over her head, just like she had all those years ago. She just knew he was staring at her ass as she got up. "I have to pick up my fath-- um, my friend from the train station at 12:30."
"Can't move," he mumbled. "Too tired... sore..." She wasn't sure if it was still really Peter or just the memory of him. All that vibrancy they had gained was gone now.
"You just rest up then, nerd boy," she laughed, but it didn't feel funny. "You've got half an hour."
She padded toward the door and she didn't look back. She hadn't then. She couldn't now.
She sensed the world fading at the edge of her vision. The dream was dropping away. The farther she got from the bed, the less sure she felt on her feet. As she crept closer, she realized the door was all wrong. She knew it hadn't been closed. And this wasn't the door to the guest room. There was a peephole... and an unfastened chain...
Barbara reached for the doorknob, a hot cup of coffee in one hand while the other closed on the cool metal. She glanced back where Peter had been, expecting a void, but she saw her father instead, sitting back on the living room couch, busily thumbing through one of his scrap books.
She remembered this then, but it was too late. The door was opening now. She turned back and she saw that ghostly, gaunt face. There wasn't much of a smile -- not by his standards, at least -- which made it even more chilling... A purple fedora sat atop his head at a jaunty angle... A gaudy Hawaiian shirt hung off his bony shoulders... That damn camera slung around his neck like a noose... And finally, the gun.
Always the gun.
She didn't hear the shot. She didn't really feel it so much, either. Just the muzzle flare and a flash of heat at the pit of her stomach before her legs went out from under her all over again.
This time she knew they wouldn't come back.
*
Barbara woke with a start. Another rude awakening.
She was vaguely surprised she wasn't in the hospital, but that happened years ago. She had made it back to reality. All that pain and despair was then. This was... now. She was safe in her techno-suite at Kord Tower... and, oh god, Black Canary was messing with her computer.
"Dinah?" Barbara murmured, still a little confused.
"Oracle?" the blonde said, turning. "Are you alright? Is... is it you?"
"Who else would it be?" Barbara groaned, muddling through the last dregs of disorientation. "Wait... What are you doing here? You were in Japan..."
"Just teleported back," Dinah told her. "Bruce called. Said he was worried about you."
"Well, you can tell Mr. Catwoman I'm fine," Barbara said, and she seemed to be. She felt a little flush and her shoulder suddenly hurt for some reason, but she wasn't too worse for wear. Not physically at least. As for mentally or emotionally, it wasn't the first time she'd woken from that Joker nightmare and she seriously doubted it'd be the last. The rest of it, though... The stuff with... with Spider-Man was a different story.
"Dinah, do you think you could bring me some tea?" she asked, wheeling to the computer.
"Uh, sure," the Canary said, but she didn't seem certain. Barbara was sure she had questions, but now wasn't the time... No longer within the psionically enhanced memory of having just had a good night's sleep, she found herself utterly exhausted.
"I'm alright," she assured Dinah, refreshing the system, "but I'll be better once I've had something to drink."
"Are you sure you only want tea?" Dinah asked as Barbara started to work. "I'm pretty sure Zinda's got some bourbon squirreled away somewhere..."
"The tea should be fine," Barbara told her. She almost wondered if she should just ask for the whiskey. Not because she really wanted it -- she felt foggy enough -- but because Dinah might be more inclined to go then. Barbara just needed a moment to herself.
"Okay," Dinah said eventually. "Cup of tea coming right up." She went off toward the kitchen.
"And, um... maybe a fresh pair of pants," Barbara added.
Dinah stopped to give her friend a puzzled look.
"I'll explain later," she blushed. She saw Dinah shrug before setting off once again.
"Damn it," Babs cursed once she was gone. She'd actually started setting up the counter-frequency before she noticed the faint, familiar scent, which only added to her embarrassment. She reached down and felt the dampness between her legs.
Sometime while she was out, during the dream, she'd creamed her pants. She had a pretty good idea when it had happened...
Would it help if I told you I might have used a little psychosomatic persuasion? Barbara heard Frost ask her.
Did you? she wondered, only slightly miffed by this latest mental intrusion.
Maybe, maybe not, Emma teased. Barbara felt one last lusty flutter of titillation as the White Queen slipped from her mind. I'll never tell...
*
One of the great ironies of Scott Summers' life was that he was forced by circumstance to look at the world through rose-tinted, ruby-quartz glasses, yet the view remained bleak. How could it not?
In the last few years, the homo superior race had gone from an unprecedented population boom to the brink of extinction. Cyclops and the X-Men were desperately trying to save an endangered species, and every day they faced another setback. Scott spent his every waking hour trying to protect a world that feared and hated him, and he'd been doing it for so long, he now loathed the phrase "protecting a world that fears and hates mutants" in all of its various forms and tenses.
One of the X-Men had said it once years ago, back when it was just the first five, and it seemed poignant and clever. Thinking about it now, Scott realized it was probably Hank McCoy. Beast always knew how to turn a phrase. Hank said it once, and Jean thought it perfectly summed up Xavier's dream. So then Iceman and Angel started saying it all the time to try to impress her and somehow it became their mantra. Now Cyclops couldn't go a day -- one goddamn day -- without somebody saying some version of those words to him and it drove Scott insane.
It bothered him more than anything else in his life. Sure, Scott had bigger problems to deal with. Obviously. But those were responsibilities he had chosen to take on. He didn't resent the actual challenge of trying to change the world. That wasn't what leaders did. But this never ending litany about hate and fear was just asinine and obnoxious. Even more asinine and obnoxious than the fact that, despite sacrificing damn near everything that mattered to him to keep this team intact, everybody still seemed to consider Wolverine the ultimate X-Man.
Wolverine was an asshole, plain and simple. Scott couldn't think of anyone he'd rather have backing him up in a fight -- believe him, he tried -- but at the end of the day, Wolverine was a dick. Hell, he was a dick at the beginning of the day, too. Yeah, like Logan was a morning person... And Cyclops seriously doubted whatever monstrous torture Wolverine had suffered at the whims of the Weapon X program had anything to do with his unrelenting dickery. Scott was pretty sure young James Howlett had been a surly bastard long before the experimental procedure that pumped boiling adamantium into his body.
Wolverine was an asshole, but everyone Scott cared about in life loved the jerk for it. With one exception.
Scott had been waiting for that one exception to emerge from the Cerebra chamber for about half an hour. There were more important things he could have been doing in that time -- there always were -- but Cyclops had imposed a new rule on himself when the X-Men set up their little island Utopia off the coast of San Francisco: Every day, he was going to do one small, selfish thing that was just for him. So he could keep it together. Today, waiting for Emma to finish this minor service for S.H.I.E.L.D. was it.
The X-Men were trying to make some inroads with the United Nations and Scott figured offering Utopia's resources to their peacekeeping task force was an excellent gesture. While historically, S.H.I.E.L.D. command's handling of mutant relations had been spotty at best, Cyclops had to hope that with Steve Rogers in charge, the team could get some kind of support from the organization. The guy was Captain America, for godsake. He had to have some interest in preventing the genetic cleansing of an entire species...
The mechanized hiss of hydraulics drew his attention as the chamber door finally opened.
"How'd it go?" he asked Emma as she sashayed toward him.
"Scotty? Bedroom. Now," she said, hopping up in his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. "Or I'm going to take you right here."
"That good, huh?" he smirked just before she kissed him fiercely.
I have an idea I think you're going to absolutely adore, she mentally informed him as he kissed her back.
Scott wasn't a psychic, but he knew what everyone thought. That the White Queen was some depraved sex fiend who got off on fucking the boy scout. That he was completely at her mercy because when it came to her, he could only think with his dick, acting out sordid sexual fantasies born of a lifetime of repression.
Cyclops knew what they thought and he didn't care. Because one of the best things about his life was that everybody was wrong. Despite the mountains of evidence to the contrary, Emma Frost loved him as much as he loved her, and until the day this crazy life of theirs blew up in all of their faces, that was enough.
But one of the other great things about Scott Summer's life -- the next best thing, if you wanted the truth of it -- was that sometimes, like now, everybody was totally right.
"Seriously, though, Emma," he said, reluctantly pulling away and trying to ignore the way she was urgently grinding against him. "Did everything turn out all right?"
"It's someone else's problem now, but I think it should be fine," she told him, bored. "Sometimes all you can do is put the right people in the same room and hope for the best."
If that was all she wanted to say, Scott could live with that.
"Now let's stop off at the storage compartment before we begin just the most sinful of antics," she insisted. "We need to borrow one of Charles' chairs..."
NEXT: So Much for the Afterglow
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When Spidey Met Oracle