"Don't try to fool me, little man. I don't know the code, but I do know its architecture. If you lie to me again, I'll know, and do you know what I'll do then? I'll leave. Harley and I will go and let Batman find you, tied up to a chair, naked and ready to burst. But if you tell me the truth..." She gave him a quick lick, easing the pain somewhat. "...I'll take you someplace where you've never been." His jerk told her she had hit home. Yet another point for Ivy: game, set, and match. "Tell me now!"
Tim gave up. Fatigue and desire had overcome his better judgment and his ability to resist. "Okay! Okay!" With a moment's effort, he recalled the code and gave it to her. He didn't even transpose some digits or change one letter for another, so afraid he was that she might know and refuse to satisfy him. Ivy looked at him, obviously thinking. After a moment, she smiled. "That checks out. Primes in the right places, and all."
She drummed her fingers against his knee. "You know, I have what I need from you now. I could walk out of here and leave you as you are. But I'm not going to. Think about that the next time you hear people call me nasty names."
She returned to his cock. As before, with Harley, she worked at a new pace now, bobbing up and down with energy. Without warning she deepthroated him, pulling against his knees to force his cock down her throat, then pulled back, sucking hard. Tim, afraid she might stop again, made no attempt to hold back. With a grunt, he came, his orgasm so intense he had to shut his eyes. He could feel Ivy still working on him, swallowing, taking what he gave her. In a moment, he opened his eyes. Ivy looked up at him with satisfaction, ribbons of come at the side of her mouth. Harley stepped out from behind him and knelt down beside her, kissing her face, licking her clean. Tim, exhausted and satiated, watched them as his prick shriveled down to its normal size.
The two kept kissing and fondling one another, now seemingly oblivious to Tim's presence. He watched them, and even in his condition, weak, tired, and sore from his bonds, he could see they knew each other's rhythms. It hadn't been a show strictly for his benefit, then; these two pleased each other, really cared for each other. They were lovers as well as partners.
Thinking about the two of them as partners made Tim think of his own partner. His mood spiraled down from post-coital elation to despair. Now free of the lust that had driven him, he berated himself with his crime. He was a criminal now, certainly; he had knowingly aided these two in their forthcoming heist. He hadn't been compelled or coerced; he had helped them only because Ivy wouldn't have sucked him off otherwise. What kind of crimefighter was he? Not a very good one, it seemed. A tear trickled down his cheek.
Harley and Ivy hadn't stopped petting each other. Ivy leaned back and spread her legs, and Harley eagerly began kissing her belly, working her way down. As Harley licked at Ivy's slit, Ivy, propping her head up on some pillows, looked over at Tim. Eyeing his tear, she spoke, punctuating her words with soft moans of joy. Harley didn't seem to mind that she didn't have Ivy's undivided attention, and diligently licked away.
"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, dear. Better, tougher men than you would have succumbed in your position, if I do say so myself." She closed her eyes for a moment and smiled a dreamy smile. Opening her eyes, she continued.
"If you have to, just tell Batman we forced you into it. It's true, in a way." She gestured at her lipstick. "This wasn't just colour, dear. I didn't have the stuff to make a truth agent, but I did have something else, something Batman wouldn't have foreseen. Makes Viagra look like prune juice. I'd market it if I could, but there are side effects... nothing a young lad like yourself can't handle, but fatal, I bet, to the heart-attack crowd." She stroked Harley's pigtails, which seemed to encourage her to greater effort. "So the lust you're feeling is not entirely your own. Most of it is, but on its own, maybe not enough to tip you over to our side."
She broke off with a shudder and gasp. Harley stopped lapping at Ivy's cunt; with a grunt, she pulled herself up and rested her head on Ivy's mid-section. Tim realized with a start that Ivy had just come; obviously not every woman was as vocal in the moment as Harley seemed to be.
Was Ivy telling the truth? He surely wanted to believe her, even though he hadn't felt any hornier than he had in the past, especially when he found himself eyeing Barbara in her tank top during a workout. Ivy raised an eyebrow. "Not sure whether to believe me? There's your proof." She gestured at his crotch. Tim, surprised, glanced down. Watching Harley get Ivy off had inspired it to rise again. Ivy sighed an exasperated sigh. "Oh, the naivety of youth. Honey, normally you can't get it up again that quickly, no matter how sexy a show you've got in front of you." Tim coloured: he had assumed in his innocence that such a fast recovery was normal, under conditions like this. "We're flattered, love, but no, it isn't you or us, it's the drug."
"Believe it, little man. When you want a tower, you get a rope," sighed Harley, idly crossing and uncrossing her legs. The twitches that went through her ass as she did so only perked up Tim's prick the more.
Ivy stared at Tim, her eyes narrow, then sat up, thrusting her chest out. "Well, Harl, he's ours until tonight. You see, Robin, the code for the vault changes every day; our code won't work until midnight. So it seems we have you for a bit longer. How shall we pass the time?"
"Huh?" Harley was obviously confused, but Ivy quelled her with one hand, pushing her head down into Ivy's belly. "It seems a shame," Ivy continued, using her seductress' voice once again, "to let that drug go to waste."
Tim, his cock now fully erect again, didn't know what to think. Ivy, it seemed, had changed plans on Harley... why? Once again, though, between his fatigue and his lust, he couldn't think straight. His cock demanded attention. "Uh..." he muttered, trying to figure out what was going on and what he should do. Ivy decided for him. She rose up and sauntered out of the room. In a moment, she returned, with keys in one hand and a knife in the other.
"What... what's that for?" Tim rasped, his cock shrinking at the sight of the knife.
"Oh, relax, it's for the ropes, not you. Harley..."
Harley, who still looked confused but seemed willing to follow Ivy's lead, rose up and joined her. Ivy swiftly unlocked his handcuffs from the arms of the chair, leaving him only tied down. She then snapped the cuffs on again, his right wrist attached to Harley's left. That done, she sawed away at the ropes, freeing him. Tim rose, stretched, glad to be out of the chair, but unsure of this new prison. Harley seemed as confused as he was, but shrugged. "You're the boss, Red."
"You two get acquainted. I'll be back soon." Ivy strode out of the room, leaving Tim staring into Harley's eyes.
"First things first, kid. Don't try anything, or I'll pulverize ya." Her bouncing breasts and pigtails neutralized the menace in her words. Tim wasn't inclined to argue the point, though; in his condition, Harley might be able to take him, even if she hadn't had Ivy close at hand to protect her. "Second things second: this don't mean anything. Next time I see ya, I'll cut ya to ribbons, if that's what Ivy or Mistah J wants. Third things third: that said, no reason we can't have a good time, huh? I've always wondered what Batman would be like in the sack. Guess you'll be almost as interestin'..."
Without warning she grabbed Tim's sodden briefs and pulled them all the way down to his feet. He was now completely naked, except for his mask. Falling to her knees with a jerk, almost yanking Tim's arm off in the process, she grabbed his ass with her free hand. She didn't go into preliminaries, as Ivy had before; she just went down on his cock and began sucking on it, hard.
Right away, Tim could tell that Ivy was the better fellatrice, with more tricks and finesse. Harley simply had gusto, moving up and down without interruption. Yes, Ivy was better, but that was like saying that tiramisu was a better, more sophisticated dessert than double-chocolate ice cream. Both gave you what you wanted, and left you happy. Groaning in delight, he ran his free hand down the side of her head to her shoulder. Harley responded by yanking hard on his cuffed arm, pulling him down onto the bed, in a sitting position. Catlike, she curled around him, still bobbing, and grabbed his free hand with hers, pulling it to her chest. That was all the encouragement Tim needed, and he began to fondle, squeeze and rub Harley's bountiful breasts. Her nipples hardened at his touch.
Harley pulled off of him in a jerk. Rising up, she pushed him backwards, leaving him on his back on the bed. Tim cursed; he had been pretty close to coming. He guessed Harley had known it too, and that was why she had stopped. She crawled over his supine body, turning about until her slit was just over Tim's mouth. "Your turn, kid," she burbled, and lowered herself to him.
Tim, unsure of himself, reached out with his tongue, and licked what he thought was her. "No, no, higher, kid, higher." He tried higher, and then lower, and then harder, and faster, following Harley's ever-more-impatient instructions, but finally she gave up. Pulling herself up and away from him, she moved to his side. "Sorry. You just can't compete with Red, and why have spam when you can have steak?" Tim, embarrassed, felt his member begin to collapse, but Harley refused to lose her toy without a fight. She reached out with her free hand and began to rub it. "Guess we'll just have to see what kinda piledriver you are, kid. Can you fuck as hard as you punch? Let's find out."
She lay down on her back and yanked him. His wrist was pretty sore now, but he didn't care. Following her pulls, he rolled on top of her. "Gimme what you got, kid," she commanded. Tim hesitated, and Harley rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You think I live with a fancy pharmacologist for nothin'? There's nothing I've got to give to you, and nothing you can give to me. So make with the lovin'!"
That was all Tim needed. With Ivy, he had tried to distract himself from considering just who his sex partner was, but his qualms were now gone, washed away on a tide of mental exhaustion and physical need. Bracing himself, he pushed forward, but couldn't find the spot. Harley rolled her eyes again. "New at this, aint'cha?" She grabbed him with her free hand and guided him in. With one push, he entered her.
He had thought, during the blowjobs he'd just received, that he knew what heaven was. But this was even better, a whole new level of experience beyond masturbation or fellation. Harley was tight and warm and vocal, and he found himself pushing, thrusting like a monomaniac, trying to pin her to the ground. Harley screamed in delight—she was as vocal during intercourse as during oral sex—and egged him on. "Come on, Robin, come on, Robin, come on, Robin, oh, oh, oh, oh, come on, Robin, give me what you got! Give it to me! Give it to me!"
He pushed and he pushed and he pushed. Time lost all meaning; there was just he and Harley, a panting, demanding Harley, urging him on. After a while even Harley receded: all he was conscious of was his cock, burning hotter and hotter, until he exploded, the fire too much to contain. The release was deliciously intense. Even as his strokes slowed, Harley shouted her pleasure, her loudest cry yet. He guessed she had come: why fake it to please him? His suspicion was confirmed in a moment; as his thrusts ceased, Harley gasped "Oh, Mistah J..." When a man made her die the little death, there was one person she couldn't help but think of.
He lay on her for only a few moments before she pushed him off, moving him away with feet and knees. Groaning, he sank down into the mattress, barely able to move. Harley, still chained to his wrist, rolled onto her side and nestled in next to him. For once, she didn't speak; instead, she ran her free hand along his chest, stroking it. She draped one of her legs over his and pressed down, hard, as if trying to soak up all the heat from him.
Everything was hazy now. Intellectually, he knew what a desperate position he was in: captive of two ruthless criminals who, as pleasant as they seemed, were both demented and dangerous; without hope of aid from his partners; in a compromising position, both literally and metaphorically. If Batman knew his sidekick had given assistance to these two in return for sex, what would he do? Tim knew all this, but couldn't concentrate; like jelly, his situation slipped away when he tried to come to grips with it. His body, worn out, demanded sleep, and Harley's soft embrace was disarming his defenses. He began to drift away.
He roused himself as he felt new pressure; Ivy had returned. She was still nude. Without a word, she lowered herself to the bed and lay down next to him, so that he was sandwiched between the pair of them. Like Harley, she began to rub his chest. He couldn't bring himself to respond, though.
Ivy had other plans. Her hand drifted down his chest, to his mid-section, and finally reached his flaccid prick, still sticky and wet with Harley's juices. She began sliding her hand along the shaft. Tim groaned as he felt his member respond, stiffening in her grasp. Earlier, he hadn't thought it possible to be tired of screwing, but he was; all he wanted was sleep. His cock had other plans, though. Ivy's drug had given it a life of its own.
"Come on, Robin. I hope they don't call you a Wonder for nothing. Harley got a ride"—"Boy howdy!" chirped Harley—and now it's my turn," Ivy whispered. She caressed him without cease, her touch gentle but sure. The handjob had the desired effect, as slowly Tim's cock rose up, pointing stiffly away from his body.
Harley eased her way down until her head was at the level of Tim's chest. She reached across Tim's body to Ivy's slit, moving slowly, as if her hand had a mind of its own. As Harley began fingering her, Ivy's ministrations to Tim's cock became less measured but more vigourous. Tim himself lay on the bed, almost oblivious to what was going on around him. It was as if he was a prisoner in his own body, his cock obeying someone else while he watched from far away.
After a few moments, Ivy rose up and slid on top of him. Without a word, she positioned his cock just so, and then lowered herself onto it. Tim gasped as he slid into her. Her cunt was much tighter than Harley's, which he hadn't realized was possible. The illusion of distance shattered; in spite of himself, he reacted, bracing his legs and pushing up into her. Ivy moaned in delight and began to jerk up and down. After a moment, they found a rhythm and began to move in unison, Ivy riding Tim as expertly as a jockey might a horse.
Tim gazed up adoringly at Ivy. The femme fatale was gone now: her hair was in disarray, wisps flying everywhere; her breasts heaved and shuddered as she pushed onto him. The icy control he associated with Ivy was gone, replaced with wanton lust. That makes two of us, he thought, and pushed harder.
Harley sat up, and laid her hands on Ivy. Tim couldn't make out what she was doing, but she seemed to be rubbing Ivy's slit even as Tim thrusted into it. Suddenly, her hand dipped behind Ivy, out of Tim's sight: Ivy screamed a little scream—the first uncontrolled sound Tim had ever heard her make—and shuddered, holding still even as Tim continued to thrust. What did she just do to her? Tim wondered. Harley answered his unspoken question with an elbow to the ribs. "You took the front door, I took the back, kid. I win the race. Hooray!" Tim was too close to coming to comment; with a final gasp, he pushed up and burst, Ivy obligingly tensing her vaginal muscles around him to drain his last drop. As he lay back, satiated, Ivy leaned forward and kissed him delicately on the lips. "Oh, Robin. You are a wonder."
Tim didn't reply. He was already asleep.
* * * * *
Ivy rose. Her face was the very picture of self-satisfaction. She picked up the handcuff keys she had left by the side of the bed and unlocked Harley's wrist. The two kissed, a sign of affection rather than desire, and rose from the bed without a sound. Tim didn't move. He was dead to the world. Ivy motioned to Harley, and the two moved into the other room.
"What's the story, Red?" Harley's tone was quizzical.
"I'll explain in the car. Quick: let's get cleaned up. Then get your things together. We won't be back."
Used to life on the run or incarcerated, the pair had few personal possessions. It only took a few moments for the two of them to shower, change into civilian clothes, pack some suitcases, and get ready to go. Standing by the door, anonymous in raincoats and sunglasses, the two looked at the apartment one last time. Ivy had hired a service to furnish it, so while they had enjoyed the atmosphere, they didn't think of the paintings and such as their own. It had been a nice place, but they could leave without a qualm. Neither let sentimentality get in the way anymore.
Looking back at Robin, who still lay snoring on the makeshift bed, Harley asked "What are we gonna do about him?"
"Leave him. After what he's been through, he won't wake up for a while, and then he'll be too groggy to do much. The phone's disconnected and he won't have any clothes, which will slow him down some."
"What's with all the foolin' around? It was nice and all, but he wasn't that great."
"An attempt at wearing him out as much as possible, for one thing. Calculated misdirection, for another. He thinks we're not hitting the vault until midnight; why else would we stick around? His ego's not big enough to think we'd put him ahead of—ahem – a big score. No, he'll reason that we really did have time to kill, which will keep him from getting his act together too quickly. By the time he wakes up, gets himself in gear, and tries to stop us, it'll be far too late. We'll be long gone, money in hand."
She smirked. "And no, his technique wasn't great... but nonetheless, it was worth it. Think about it, Harl. We were his first time. The next time he has to knock you on the head, will he be as fast, or as strong, as he should? I doubt it."
"Pretty clever, Red." Her eyes narrowed. "But there's more, right?"
"I can't fool you, can I? Yes, there's more. We were his first time. He'll be thinking about us for the rest of his life, especially when he's jacking it, I bet." She tossed her hair artfully. "That pleases me. A girl likes to leave a mark."
Laughing, the two left the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind them.
* * * * *
Tim was dimly aware of being moved, tossed and turned about, but he was too muzzy to care; in his exhaustion, he was like a child, being carried from car to bed late at night by loving parents. He knew what was going on but took it for granted he was being taken care of.
When he did come to, it was in his own bed at Wayne Manor. He sat bolt upright, shocked. Bruce was sitting at the end of the bed, watching him.
"Bruce! Uh, what..."
Bruce's gaze was keen and cold. "After I finished at the Towers, I tried to pin down Poison Ivy's safehouse. Imagine my surprise when I got there, finding it empty except for you, naked and asleep."
"Ivy said you wouldn't be coming—"
Bruce interrupted. "She underestimated me. It happens. You'd better start at the beginning."
In his vulnerability, Tim couldn't hold anything back. He told the story in a blank monotone. His voice quivered at the part where he gave up the vault combination, but didn't break. When he Bruce interrupted again. "Not worth the effort. That was a trick, I expect, to keep you from chasing after them. The money's long gone." He shrugged. "As well in their hands as Lex's, I suppose. Perhaps better: they'll use it to lie low for a while. They'll be off their guard when I come for them."
He rose. "Get some more rest. I'll have Alfred fix you something for later. We're going after the Riddler tonight; be ready to move by eleven."
He moved to the door. Tim, shocked, said "But Bruce! What about... I mean, them, and me, and... and the code, and all."
Bruce stopped, but didn't turn. Looking at the wall, he spoke, more quietly now. "The work that we do imposes certain stresses on us. We can't do what we do if we're not tightly wound, and our more relentless adversaries couldn't do what they do if they weren't the result of psychological pressures themselves. Occasionally, when we meet, our psyches push against each other just so, provoking a reaction. Both sides feel it."
He paused. "I'm disappointed, but not angry. This sort of thing comes with the territory. You're not the first, or even the third. Ask Dick about Talia sometime, or Barbara about Nygma." He paused again, his shoulders tensing. "Or me about Selena." Tim swallowed in surprise. "Try to keep it from happening again," Bruce continued. "If you do feel the need to... blow off some steam"—Tim goggled at the euphemism—"let me know. I can make some arrangements. Until then, channel it into your work. It's the best fuel there is for what we do."
He left before Tim could reply. Tim settled backwards into his bed, stunned. That was an awful lot of food for thought. Bruce and Selena? Wow. 'Blow off some steam?' Bruce was usually far too literal for metaphors. Most of all: 'make some arrangements?' What was that about? The mind boggled at the possibilities.
For the moment, though, he meant to take Bruce up on his instructions and get some more rest. His last thoughts as he went to sleep were about his luck. Had he had two pieces of luck today, or three? He couldn't tell.
finished, he added, "Since it's not midnight yet, we can still get them. All we have to do is—"