Chapter Text
When Barbara wakes up for the second time, Diana isn’t in the bed. She isn’t tied to anything anymore, and she can move freely if not without soreness. Her wrists and ankles still burn faintly from the Lasso of Truth. Her neck throbs where Diana bit her, and she’d let the Alpha do it aggressively. It wasn’t the only mark she’d left. Barbara’s fur could hide bruises well, but even she could tell she looked thoroughly worked over.
“Look who’s up!”
Diana’s voice carries from across the room, and Barbara looks up to find the woman pulling on her costume. She looks every bit the intimidating figure she’s meant to be, scent dominant and sharp in the air. And yet—she smiles so brightly, so softly, and still so stunning, it makes Barbara hate her a little.
“Are you leaving?”
The dark-haired woman grins. “I have people to save.” She nods toward Barbara. “And you need to get out of here.”
A set of sweats in her favorite color lands in Barbara’s lap—somehow they fit perfectly. There are shoes beside them, and her clothes from last night are already packed up neatly, the hot bag sitting next to it all.
“You were always kind of shit at aftercare,” Barbara mutters.
Diana laughs. “That’s not true. I held you until I couldn’t. Besides, you always say this is just sex.”
Barbara rolls her eyes as she gets dressed. “Fine. This’ll probably be the last time you see me.”
“No it won’t,” Diana replies, tapping her earpiece. “Hold on-” she speaks into it, calm and clear, “Wonder Woman to Metro Tower, two minutes out.”
Then she turns back to Barbara, voice smooth. “I’m going to be hungry tonight, and when I order, I expect you to bring my food.”
“And if I don’t?” Barbara says, though her neck already tingles at the thought. The woman’s scent lingers in the air, heavy and warm, and her knees threaten to buckle. Between her legs is still soaked and sore. “What are you going to do?”
Diana smiles. “All clear,” she says, clearly not to Barbara. And just like that, something in her face and scent shifts. She steps toward the balcony, voice lowered.
“You don’t want to find out. Later. And don’t worry: I left a tip in the hot bag.”
“You bitch!” Barbara shouts as the woman vanishes with a smirk.
She loathes that woman and everything about her.
And yet, when she opens the hot bag, there’s $150: exactly the cost of the food and a little handwritten note:
I always give you 100%.