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queenkatyastar) wrote2020-03-10 11:26 pm
queenkatyastar) wrote2020-03-10 11:26 pm
Entry tags:
One Last Kiss, or One More?
Title: One Last Kiss, or One More?
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: Batman
Characters/Pairing: Nightwing/Oracle
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt: The Inaugural Kissathon: Prompt: DCU, Dick/Babs, just in case this is our last kiss, as requested by Undead Robins
Word Count: 1,827
Date Written: 10 March 2020
Warnings: None
Summary: It could be their last kiss, but then, isn't that always the case?
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
"Wait," she speaks, quickly wheeling her chair towards him.
He turns around quickly; they're both moving so fast they nearly collide. "Yeah?" He thinks she must have somehow forgotten an important detail about the mission on which he's leaving, but the look in her emerald green eyes speaks volumes that that is not the case at all. "Babs?" he asks, his heartbeat suddenly pounding in his ears.
She reaches up to touch his hand, but hesitates at the last moment and starts to drop her hand back to her side. Their fingertips brush, however, and he grips her reaching hand before he can stop himself. "What is it?" he asks gently as her eyes lower, clearly with embarrassment, from his.
"I just . . . I . . . " Suddenly, the years fall away, and she appears again as the nervous, young girl she once was. They had both been so nervous and trying to hide their fears and self esteem issues each night they'd been out on Gotham. They had never quite succeeded in hiding from each other, however, and she isn't succeeding in hiding the truth from him now. "That is to say . . . "
He squeezes her hand. "Say it," he tries to command her. "Just say it." But she's always been so stubborn, too stubborn to ever truly let him lead. She's the only woman he wants even after all this time. Yet, they're still not together, because, he knows, she thinks he deserves better than her.
If he was to ask and she was to actually be honest with him and herself for a change, she'd tell him that he deserved a woman who could be with him on every step of life's journey, who could swing from rooftop to rooftop and battle the villains who were always trying to take over, some one who could hold her own and help him in the never-ending struggle, some one, ultimately, who could freaking walk. He hates that she can't walk, and would gladly kill the Joker a hundred times over for what he's done to her if it wouldn't lower him in her eyes, but her crippled legs would never make her less of a woman or a fighter in his eyes. If anything, she's become even stronger since they were teens, still so uncertain of nearly everything except that they wanted to help their role models make Gotham, and the world, a better place.
The world is a better place, because she's in it. His life is better. He is better. Yet every time he wants to tell her such things, like now, the words stick in his throat. They refuse to come. The things he wants to do to her, the feelings he ached to invoke in her, will not happen any more than he can speak the words.
"I just . . . " She looks away, biting her bottom lip, a habit he's always thought utterly endearing. "Just be careful," she finally mutters.
Turning, she starts to tug her hand away and let him go alone into the night as she must, but he holds tight. She looks up at him, surprise and uncertainty both registering in her eyes and warring with each other for dominance.
"You're always so cute when you're trying to hide what you really want to say."
She piques an eyebrow at him. "What do I want to say?" she asks him, trying to make her voice sound cold. She doesn't sound cold at all, not to him for he knows her. He knows the level, unfeeling tone with which she speaks isn't the way she's actually feeling at all. "What would you like me to say, Grayson?"
To Hell with it, he thinks, knowing fully well that he might not come back in the morning. This may well be the last time he gets to see her, to touch her, the last opportunity he has to taste her lips which, to him, have always been sweeter, richer, and more intoxicating than the sweetest wine. Batman has his wife, Catwoman, at his side. Yet Dick can not marry the woman she loves because she has to be too damn stubborn for both their good; nor can he take her with him, through no fault of either of their own.
She could fight him, he knows, but she doesn't as he yanks her up out of her wheelchair and against his strong chest. He presses her close, holds her tight, and wishes with all his heart that he never has to let go, though he already knows he has to. He has to leave her to go protect the world -- again. He has to let go of his dream, because whereas she believes she can not give him a future, he knows his own future is limited. Every time he puts on the cowl and heads out into the night is another chance he may never have to see her again, but there hasn't been so great a chance as tonight in a very long time.
Her beautiful, green eyes are full of questions as they shine up into his. He pulls her closer still, his strong arms wrapping around her making her feel safe and loved, two things she only ever feels any more, and has only ever felt in years, in his warm, passionate embrace. "This could be our last chance," he whispers. She nods mutely, draping her arms over his strong shoulders and entwining her hands behind his neck. She never wants to let go, nor does he, but each knows they must. They must if the world is to survive. They must if the people of Gotham are to live. This should be Batman's fight, they both think in their own ways, but they will no more relinquish the fight or stop doing the right thing than they will speak of the emotions that are always there between them, that have been there long since before they were old enough to understand their true depths.
He takes a deep breath as he both pulls and she willingly comes closer. "Just in case this is our last kiss . . . " he whispers, and the words hang between them for a moment before they both press their lips to each other's. It's a mutual kiss, both acting on their true and strongest desires. Every time they're together, they want to say the words. They want to act on the love they feel, on the love that consumes them every time the other one is near. Their mouths open together, and their tongues touch between their lips. Each pours all the words they ache to say but dare not speak into the embrace of their lips and tongue.
He could stay right here forever and die a happy man when the end of the world eventually comes. She could, too. There's no greater place, nothing she wants more, than to stay right here in his arms until she does die. But he has to save the world so he can see her again tomorrow night, and she has to be at the controls to lead him through whatever else comes. She has other heroes needing her assistance as well, some younger, a few older; she can hear their voices crackling over her intercoms now.
He hears them too, reminding him of something else he's always wanted to tell her but always failed to do so. She's even stronger now as Oracle than she ever was as Batgirl. She may not walk beside him, but she is always beside him, giving him not just guidance but strength and reassurance to do every night what is needed if they are all to survive this maddening world. Speaking of maddening, the Joker and his new team of super fiends may be taking the Bat and Cat down right now. Batman thinks he can handle them all himself, but they both know better.
"Oracle? Oracle, are you there?" calls one of the younger heroes, one they both know is struggling hard with the cowl she's decided to take on. All these years have taught him understanding and compassion, if not agreement, with Bruce never wanting any one else to adopt the Bat mask and meaning. There are so many young ones who could so easily die, all because they, for their own reasons, are bent on also doing the right thing. "Help!"
Barbara pulls her mouth away from his as gently as she can. They both want to cry. He sees it in her eyes; he witnesses the tears she never lets herself cry each time they part. He caresses her face and remembers, in younger years, when he used to try to etch every detail into his permanent memory. He'll never forget her face, her touch, or her taste. He'll always hold to these dearest of memories, especially every time he's fighting, right up until he dies. He smirks, actually smirks, as he wonders if he'll get the chance to come back as a ghost and haunt her. Such things do exist, but he still isn't sure how they happen.
Her emerald eyes narrow at him. "Why are you smirking, Dick?"
"Because," he boasts, "I've got something none of the bad guys do."
Her gaze deepens while her expression tries, and fails, to give him the air that he's stepped in something rotten. "And what's that?"
"I've got a wonderful woman, a -- " He loses his nerve, as he always does. " -- a most cherished friend to come home to."
"And don't you forget that, Birdboy." She gives him a quick peck, her lips touching his again and stealing another kiss neither of them will speak of later when the threats are once again paused and their lives are ever so temporarily calmed. "Now let me down."
He does so regretfully but takes his time despite the young one screaming over her intercoms. He takes his time in lowering her body away from his, in releasing her, and caressing every inch of her through her uniform as he does. She pretends not to notice, but though the nerves in her legs may be dead, he knows she can not possibly miss the heat that passes through his palms into her torso, her arms, her very breasts . . .
"Help!" the child cries again, and with a heavy sigh, Barbara takes control, lowering herself the rest of the way into her wheelchair, and turns her back on him. He lets her do what he knows she must, and runs to do what he must do. She watches him leave on her cameras through the corner of my eye. "Come back to me," she whispers, covering her microphone with her slightly trembling hand. "Dear God, come back to me." They both know he will, if there's anything left of him after tonight.
The End
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: Batman
Characters/Pairing: Nightwing/Oracle
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt: The Inaugural Kissathon: Prompt: DCU, Dick/Babs, just in case this is our last kiss, as requested by Undead Robins
Word Count: 1,827
Date Written: 10 March 2020
Warnings: None
Summary: It could be their last kiss, but then, isn't that always the case?
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
"Wait," she speaks, quickly wheeling her chair towards him.
He turns around quickly; they're both moving so fast they nearly collide. "Yeah?" He thinks she must have somehow forgotten an important detail about the mission on which he's leaving, but the look in her emerald green eyes speaks volumes that that is not the case at all. "Babs?" he asks, his heartbeat suddenly pounding in his ears.
She reaches up to touch his hand, but hesitates at the last moment and starts to drop her hand back to her side. Their fingertips brush, however, and he grips her reaching hand before he can stop himself. "What is it?" he asks gently as her eyes lower, clearly with embarrassment, from his.
"I just . . . I . . . " Suddenly, the years fall away, and she appears again as the nervous, young girl she once was. They had both been so nervous and trying to hide their fears and self esteem issues each night they'd been out on Gotham. They had never quite succeeded in hiding from each other, however, and she isn't succeeding in hiding the truth from him now. "That is to say . . . "
He squeezes her hand. "Say it," he tries to command her. "Just say it." But she's always been so stubborn, too stubborn to ever truly let him lead. She's the only woman he wants even after all this time. Yet, they're still not together, because, he knows, she thinks he deserves better than her.
If he was to ask and she was to actually be honest with him and herself for a change, she'd tell him that he deserved a woman who could be with him on every step of life's journey, who could swing from rooftop to rooftop and battle the villains who were always trying to take over, some one who could hold her own and help him in the never-ending struggle, some one, ultimately, who could freaking walk. He hates that she can't walk, and would gladly kill the Joker a hundred times over for what he's done to her if it wouldn't lower him in her eyes, but her crippled legs would never make her less of a woman or a fighter in his eyes. If anything, she's become even stronger since they were teens, still so uncertain of nearly everything except that they wanted to help their role models make Gotham, and the world, a better place.
The world is a better place, because she's in it. His life is better. He is better. Yet every time he wants to tell her such things, like now, the words stick in his throat. They refuse to come. The things he wants to do to her, the feelings he ached to invoke in her, will not happen any more than he can speak the words.
"I just . . . " She looks away, biting her bottom lip, a habit he's always thought utterly endearing. "Just be careful," she finally mutters.
Turning, she starts to tug her hand away and let him go alone into the night as she must, but he holds tight. She looks up at him, surprise and uncertainty both registering in her eyes and warring with each other for dominance.
"You're always so cute when you're trying to hide what you really want to say."
She piques an eyebrow at him. "What do I want to say?" she asks him, trying to make her voice sound cold. She doesn't sound cold at all, not to him for he knows her. He knows the level, unfeeling tone with which she speaks isn't the way she's actually feeling at all. "What would you like me to say, Grayson?"
To Hell with it, he thinks, knowing fully well that he might not come back in the morning. This may well be the last time he gets to see her, to touch her, the last opportunity he has to taste her lips which, to him, have always been sweeter, richer, and more intoxicating than the sweetest wine. Batman has his wife, Catwoman, at his side. Yet Dick can not marry the woman she loves because she has to be too damn stubborn for both their good; nor can he take her with him, through no fault of either of their own.
She could fight him, he knows, but she doesn't as he yanks her up out of her wheelchair and against his strong chest. He presses her close, holds her tight, and wishes with all his heart that he never has to let go, though he already knows he has to. He has to leave her to go protect the world -- again. He has to let go of his dream, because whereas she believes she can not give him a future, he knows his own future is limited. Every time he puts on the cowl and heads out into the night is another chance he may never have to see her again, but there hasn't been so great a chance as tonight in a very long time.
Her beautiful, green eyes are full of questions as they shine up into his. He pulls her closer still, his strong arms wrapping around her making her feel safe and loved, two things she only ever feels any more, and has only ever felt in years, in his warm, passionate embrace. "This could be our last chance," he whispers. She nods mutely, draping her arms over his strong shoulders and entwining her hands behind his neck. She never wants to let go, nor does he, but each knows they must. They must if the world is to survive. They must if the people of Gotham are to live. This should be Batman's fight, they both think in their own ways, but they will no more relinquish the fight or stop doing the right thing than they will speak of the emotions that are always there between them, that have been there long since before they were old enough to understand their true depths.
He takes a deep breath as he both pulls and she willingly comes closer. "Just in case this is our last kiss . . . " he whispers, and the words hang between them for a moment before they both press their lips to each other's. It's a mutual kiss, both acting on their true and strongest desires. Every time they're together, they want to say the words. They want to act on the love they feel, on the love that consumes them every time the other one is near. Their mouths open together, and their tongues touch between their lips. Each pours all the words they ache to say but dare not speak into the embrace of their lips and tongue.
He could stay right here forever and die a happy man when the end of the world eventually comes. She could, too. There's no greater place, nothing she wants more, than to stay right here in his arms until she does die. But he has to save the world so he can see her again tomorrow night, and she has to be at the controls to lead him through whatever else comes. She has other heroes needing her assistance as well, some younger, a few older; she can hear their voices crackling over her intercoms now.
He hears them too, reminding him of something else he's always wanted to tell her but always failed to do so. She's even stronger now as Oracle than she ever was as Batgirl. She may not walk beside him, but she is always beside him, giving him not just guidance but strength and reassurance to do every night what is needed if they are all to survive this maddening world. Speaking of maddening, the Joker and his new team of super fiends may be taking the Bat and Cat down right now. Batman thinks he can handle them all himself, but they both know better.
"Oracle? Oracle, are you there?" calls one of the younger heroes, one they both know is struggling hard with the cowl she's decided to take on. All these years have taught him understanding and compassion, if not agreement, with Bruce never wanting any one else to adopt the Bat mask and meaning. There are so many young ones who could so easily die, all because they, for their own reasons, are bent on also doing the right thing. "Help!"
Barbara pulls her mouth away from his as gently as she can. They both want to cry. He sees it in her eyes; he witnesses the tears she never lets herself cry each time they part. He caresses her face and remembers, in younger years, when he used to try to etch every detail into his permanent memory. He'll never forget her face, her touch, or her taste. He'll always hold to these dearest of memories, especially every time he's fighting, right up until he dies. He smirks, actually smirks, as he wonders if he'll get the chance to come back as a ghost and haunt her. Such things do exist, but he still isn't sure how they happen.
Her emerald eyes narrow at him. "Why are you smirking, Dick?"
"Because," he boasts, "I've got something none of the bad guys do."
Her gaze deepens while her expression tries, and fails, to give him the air that he's stepped in something rotten. "And what's that?"
"I've got a wonderful woman, a -- " He loses his nerve, as he always does. " -- a most cherished friend to come home to."
"And don't you forget that, Birdboy." She gives him a quick peck, her lips touching his again and stealing another kiss neither of them will speak of later when the threats are once again paused and their lives are ever so temporarily calmed. "Now let me down."
He does so regretfully but takes his time despite the young one screaming over her intercoms. He takes his time in lowering her body away from his, in releasing her, and caressing every inch of her through her uniform as he does. She pretends not to notice, but though the nerves in her legs may be dead, he knows she can not possibly miss the heat that passes through his palms into her torso, her arms, her very breasts . . .
"Help!" the child cries again, and with a heavy sigh, Barbara takes control, lowering herself the rest of the way into her wheelchair, and turns her back on him. He lets her do what he knows she must, and runs to do what he must do. She watches him leave on her cameras through the corner of my eye. "Come back to me," she whispers, covering her microphone with her slightly trembling hand. "Dear God, come back to me." They both know he will, if there's anything left of him after tonight.
The End