Clad in Other Guise
by betty

Clad in Other Guise

betty

Summary

"A girl's got to be careful of men. I hope you don't mind me saying so."

Notes

This is for buggery on hir birthday! Or, more accurately, a week later, but the sentiment is there! Jack, you said nice things about my fic when I was quaking in my very first post, and I will never forget it.

Thanks to rubynye for audiencing, and petronelle, thete1 and jamjar for betas.

Imported from Archive of Our Own. Original work id: 59271.

Chapter One

He's out of Ms. Climpson's office and on the street heading toward where he left his bike when he sees her at the café. She's dressed in one of those long skirt and little jacket combos that she thinks will make people take her more seriously, and she's got her hair twisted up, trying to look older. He doesn't shift stride, because that draws attention, but he does walk faster and hopes she won't look up from her book. He must have done something though, because her eyes flick up, and then her head snaps up, and she's stuffing her book in her purse and striding toward him. Dick wants to die. Bad enough to be wearing knee socks and a pleated skirt, but to have Babs see him... She'll never let him forget it.

She blocks him on the sidewalk, and it's like facing a supervillain to meet her eyes, but she just says, "Hey there, you look a little familiar."

"I, uh..." Dick says, "It's for a, um--"

She smiles, but it's kind and only a little amused. "You make it look good." It's a relief to hear, because he hadn't been sure the collar would cover what his last growth spurt had done to his shoulder width, so he gives her the kind of shy grin he thinks his persona would give.

Her smile warms. "I always wanted to have a younger sister. So I could braid her hair. Come home with me?" And there's this look in her eyes, and she's the first girl he ever even thought... he doesn't think of arguing.

He's careful getting into her car, because Alfred made him practise that, getting in and out of cars in short skirts. He checks to see if she notices, but can't tell. Babs smiles at him over her shoulder as she drives, one hand on the wheel on one on the window. "So... Diane?"

Dick confesses, "Rachel" because that's what it says on the student ID in his purse.

She doesn't really act as if she heard but just says, "tell me about yourself."

So Dick tells her about Rachel's cover as a bookstore employee, and she asks Rachel questions about how she likes to deal with customers and if she reads on her break. "I'm a librarian," Babs confides.

Dick thinks Rachel would secretly like to be a librarian, just like Babs, so he gives her a wide eyed glance at that. "Do you... is it hard?" Babs laughs it off, but Dick makes sure she knows that Rachel thinks she must be awfully smart.

"I bet you're very popular, hon," says Babs. He's not sure how to answer that one, so he lets his hair fall forward over his face, to suggest a shy blush. "But, well. A girl's got to be careful of men. I hope you don't mind me saying so. Little sister."

Dick laughs, like Rachel would and says, "Oh, I don't take candy from strangers."

When they get to her apartment, Babs brings Dick into her bedroom. He's seen it before, but generally from outside the window. There's a big bed, a closet in one corner, and a computer in the other. Dick wouldn't want that blank eye staring at him while he sleeps, but he's not surprised that she doesn't mind. She sits Dick down on her bed and says, "You know a girl with your looks could be really striking, but with your make-up, you just blend right in. " She makes Dick scrub off the make-up Alfred so carefully applied, and then gets a box the size of a full evidence kit, and starts pulling out pots and tubes and pastes and brushes.

She puts her hand on his chin, and it still feels delicate from the close shave and the scrubbing to get Alfred's make up off. "Close your eyes."

Dick does, and tips up his face.

She starts out with something cool and wet. "Moisturizer. A tip from your big sis. You have to take care of your skin." She rubs it across his forehead, down his temples, across his cheekbones and nose, and chin and eyelids. He grabs his knees to keep his hands still.

When she removes her hands, he doesn't open his eyes, just breathes. The smell of the lotion is how she smells when he comes across her during the day. At night, she smells differently. "I'd curl your lashes, but you don't need it."

She leans forward and drags something across his cheek, and then tilts his chin up, and puts her thumb on the edge of his face, just under his eye, and carefully stretches the delicate skin. When she puts the pencil there, it tickles, and it feel dangerous and safe at once. The bed moves when Babs crawls up next to him and he can't feel her... he thinks her breasts must be touching his, from the angle. She brushes something cool and liquid and sharp over his eyelids, and then there's the firm pressure of her thumb at the edge of his eyes, and then the softer brush over his lids. "Look down," she says, and he has to hold very still when she puts a brush in his eye. He knows he could take the brush from her and do it himself, but... That's not what they're doing. He never has, not with Babs, but today it's feeling like it's going to happen, has to happen. "Look up," she says. Her breath is on his ear.

She crawls around behind him on the mattress and does the same thing on the other side, and then puts a finger tip on his bottom lip and for an insane moment he thinks she wants him to suck it. "Open your mouth, a little, now," she says, so he does. Her thumb moves his mouth where she wants it as she drags liner, and then something tasting of apricot across his lips.

"No, sweetie," says Babs, and he realizes he's tasting it because he's licking it, and carefully puts his tongue between his teeth. He can still smell it.

"There's a good girl," says Babs.

Babs kneels down behind him. He can feel her bent knees outside his thighs, and puts her hands on his hips. "Open your eyes now. Tell me what you see." He sees a girl's bedroom, with books on the dresser where the dolls and... well, girl stuff, whatever that is, should be, and a girl in the mirror, with Babs-- He's in the mirror, pupils blown, eyes dark and limpid at once, lips an invitation to bite, a colour that's red like-- Like. Behind him, Babs looks like a grinning tiger.

"Tell me what you see," she repeats. He tries to laugh at himself because it feels so-- he thinks he'll choke if he doesn't.

"I'm a bit... skinny for a... I don't have your figure."

Babs' smile gets more pleased and more dangerous. She smooths her hands up his sides and stops them just below the falsies. In the mirror, he can see her thumb moving over the bottom curve of his breast, but he can only feel the warmth of her hand. "Don't worry, honey. They're the perfect size."

And she's... it's not like he's actually... But Dick's not stupid, and he knows what's happening, what's going to happen, and the drape of his skirt is becoming less innocent.

"I really like..." he says, and then tries to figure out what Rachel would say. "It's really pretty, the way you did it. I like it."

Babs laughs and her thumb goes over where his-- her-- someone's nipple would be. "You're pretty. You just need to accent it. Stop being so shy, hon. There's nothing wrong with a woman using everything she's got, in this world." She pets one hand back down to his waist, but only to play with the band of his skirt. "Would you like to... I'd really like to see you in some more... striking clothing. I've got a really classy blouse that would look cute on you."

Dick nods, but she's not watching him.

"I hope you don't mind, baby," she says, and kneels up to strip off her stockings, "but they just aren't comfortable." She gives him a complicit smile. "How we suffer for fashion."

He catches a flash of dark women's underwear and needs to... He pulls one of the pillows from the end of her bed and puts it in his lap and tries to lean on it to give himself some relief.

"Oh, dear," says Babs, sounding concerned. "I didn't even think. Here, lie down and make yourself comfortable."

Dick knows he can't-- He rolls over unto his stomach and buries his face in her ohgod, lace comforter which actually had featured in one, in retrospect, very juvenile fantasy. It smells of detergent, but when he lifts his face, he can smell her, quite close. She's kneeling right by his head.

"Have you had too much sun, Rachel? Here, but your head in my lap." Her skirt is spread around her like an opening flower on top of her quilt. He catches the edge of it and pushes it up to her knee with one hand, watching not her face, but her hands to see if he has permission.

He thinks the answer is no when she reaches out and takes his hand in both of hers. "Oh, hon, what nice nails you have!"

"They're, um. Acrylic," he admits, and she pulls her skirt the rest of the way up, and makes a space for him between her thighs, leans back on her elbows.

When Dick was fifteen he had two dates with Linda Waterhouse. After the first one she said, "You're really not very good at this, are you?" tossed him a book and said, "Read this before Friday." It was Box Lunch: The Layperson's Guide to Cunnilingus.

Box Lunch: The Layperson's Guide to Cunnilingus.

"Friday?"

"Our next date." Seeing his stunned expression she had said, "Listen, someone has to make sure boys know what they're doing. I consider it giving to the community."

The humiliation of the well paged book did not overcome his desperation for real breasts and someone's hand besides his own and, on Friday, she had pronounced him much improved and asked for her book back.

For the first time in his life, Dick is honestly grateful to her, when he makes Babs arch and say, "G-- good girl," and pat clumsily at the hair of his wig. He can't keep his hips still, and he knows his skirt is up around his waist. He desperately hopes that it looks more hot than foolish.

"Mind- ah! Mind my bedspread," Babs warns.

He-- he can't-- He sucks the inside of her thigh for moment and manages to still his hips, and she kicks him in the kidney with her heel.

"Don't stop," she says, sounding, for the first time, like she's actually talking to him and not Rachel. He wishes he knew if he was supposed to be using his hand too, but he knows he's on the right track when she gives a yank and pulls his wig off and digs her fingers into his hair.

stop

He's not sure if this will ever happen again, so he's trying to pay attention to everything, her panting, her smell, her underwear tight around her knees, but something far more primal in him just wants--

"ng" says Babs, and bites her lip. When he tries to see her face, she pushes him back into her lap, but under his lashes he can see her hair, all come out of its neat coil, loose on the pillow. She pulls his hair hard with one hand and strokes his head with the other. And it's-- He just wants to stay like this forever and he can't stand it for another moment, he needs to get off, he has his hands fisted in her skirt until his tendons show from the effort of stopping himself.

"Oh," says Babs, and pushes herself back up on her elbows. "Let me..." She laughs a little. "We've made a mess of your lipstick, haven't we. Here, sit up." Dick can't stop himself, when he sits up, from giving himself a squeeze through his panties, but Babs puts a hand on his forearm and makes him stay still while she wipes his mouth with a tissue.

"And your nice skirt in disarray," she chides, and pulls his hand away and makes him settle it flat on the bed. She carefully smooths his skirt back around his hips in the lewdest possibly parody of innocence. "Hmm," she says. "I just can't keep my nails looking good." They're painted pink.

Then she puts her hand under his skirt, where he needs it, breathing into his ear, watching over his shoulder as he hisses and shivers and oh god! Oh God! He clutches her wrist and tries to slow her down and he should know better because she's never backed down from anything. She's ready with a tissue and he can tell that he's blushing all the way down his chest. He's glad she's resting her chin on his shoulder because he's not sure he could meet her eyes.

There's a moment of silence.

"Dick," she says finally, which is a relief.

"Babs," he says, trying to sound like the Boy Wonder, and not a kid who's just... He gets off the bed and tries to shake his skirt straight, and she's whoah- distracting, pulling her panties off from her ankle, her hair is tangled-- "See you tonight, Batgirl?" he manages to spit out and is glad it came out right, because his brain is not back firing on all cylinders yet.

"Dick," Babs pulls a pin out of the tangle of her hair, and combs it with her fingers, looking for more. "You ever think about what you'll do when... I mean, sometimes, do you want to-- There's some problems that Batgirl isn't the answer to. Right?" She's looking at him as if it's important that he understand, but he doesn't really.

"Well, that's what the Wayne Foundation's for, isn't it?"

She has two pins in her mouth when she says, "Arou going be 'ate --ptah-- late reporting in?" She looks at the pins in her hand, not at him.

"Um. Really, yes. Help me with my makeup so that I can get home?"

But before she puts his lipstick on, she pulls him in for a kiss. It feels a little shy, and she breaks it to brush his cheek. "God, I... I wish I had your lashes," she says, and then efficiently paints him, straightens his blouse, and sends him home.

Dick blames his unsteadiness as he steps out onto the street on his mary janes' heels.