Poison Ivy’s heart stopped for a moment.
A moment that seemingly lasted an eternity in between the Dark Knight’s growling response and the first footsteps he took towards her.
Her emerald eyes widened with a flurry of emotions as the masked man approached her containment cell with certain agency in every step.
Of those fleeting feelings that lit up her leering glare, none were perhaps more prominent than pure, smoldering lust.
Lust for the armored meatsack that had put her in this unnatural prison, who had murdered so many of her children so early on in their fledgling development.
Biting her lip with every metallic thud of his boots, the redheaded woman found herself scooting backwards as he reached into his utility belt for something upon coming upon her door.
Swiftly producing his handy Cryptographic Sequencer, the Batman took a knee and activated it.
His eyes flickered over to the security console built into the containment unit, and then back to the digitally produced screen.
With no motion wasted, he went about manipulating the dials until finally-
Bzzzzzz.
An electronic unlocking sound was heard from above, prompting the florokinetic woman to audibly hold her breath…
… and then exhale in shuddering excitement as the door opened up, removing that tangible barrier between them.
Pocketing the high-tech device, he then stared down at her.
And she stared up at him.
The two sworn rivals, with more bad blood between them than two Middle Eastern countries.
Initially, there was nothing but thinly veiled disdain in the cowled slits of the Dark Knight.
Regret. Anger, perhaps self-inflicted more than anything else.
But that all seemed to sink beneath the surface when he stepped one boot over the cell’s threshold, followed by the other one.
Ivy, surprised still by his own actions thus far, was rooted in place with the caped crusader entering inside without any further ado.
He cracked the knuckles in his right hand, a subtle gesture of intimidation that any criminal of the superstitious and cowardly variety would instantly recognize...and cower away from if they had any good sense.
But such a reaction was not sparked in the former botanist.
Tucking one leg under her rear, she continued looking up at him with all the residual arousal from her masturbation still lingering all over her attractive features.
Separating both hands, Batman took another step towards her, and then stopped.
Now, it would appear that the ball was in her court.
“I’m surprised….you decided to take me up on my offer, darling,” she finally said, regaining her fully sensual composure.
“You’re not the only one,” he grunted out, the words seemingly being pried right from his stoic mouth.
Within the radius of the containment cell, her pheromones were effectively nullified, but her supermodel-esque figure alone could cut through any man’s will like scissors slicing through paper.
Even…..the Batman’s?
“You’re not the only one,” he repeated himself, resolving to finish the statement in its entirely, “- who’s had a long night, and needs….release.”
Her lips parted, forming into a gasping o-shape, and then the curling shape of a Cheshire cat once the self-professed plant queen reached a fuller understanding of what was going on.
“The mammal wants what the machine cannot give him,” she breathed out with a smug realization. “He desires what only Mother Nature can-”
“Save the monologue for the transporting truck to Blackgate,” he cut her off, regaining at least some semblance of his usual stoicism. “This is a one-time arrangement, Ivy. One. Time.”
“But of course, lover…” The redhead rose up on her knees, presenting herself before him with her round, ravishing breasts still hanging so freely from her unbuttoned jacket. “We don’t need to draw this out...any more than we have to.”
The vigilante was about to say something, something that would seem more reminiscent of his usual gruff, brooding self.
But at the last possible split-second, a flicker of indecision washed over his facial expression.
The Dark Knight was in conflict with himself.
Conflict not visible to the naked eye, perhaps, but for Poison Ivy, it was as palpable as the sweet aroma of fallen pine needles in the evergreens.
“I may not agree with your ‘mission’, Batman, but I do recognize the toll it must take,” she mused aloud, maintaining eye contact with him. “I can’t begin to imagine the burden you bear, of cleansing all of the filth that pollutes this island. Especially the clown.”
His eyes narrowed at the mere mention of the Joker, but he kept his body language otherwise under control.
“You must be so worn down, carrying the weight of the inferior species on your shoulders. Being their only hope, their own salvation from certain extinction.”
He murmured something silently, again showing that internal schism that had yet to be reconciled.
Licking her lips with fervent anticipation, Ivy gingerly inched closer to the masked man, despite the inherent risks of him getting...physical with her again.
But even that somehow still kept her flower nice and damp.
“Their hero,” she verbally caressed him again, sliding forward on her knees little by little.
“And yet I’m here with you,” he finally spoke, offering some rebuttal.
“Yes….you are. But even Gotham’s hero needs to….recharge.”
His head sharply turned to her, the layered innuendo within that statement so unsubtle even a chimp detective could decipher it, much less the world’s greatest.
“And I can be quite the outlet,” she went on to say, her tone shifting in a very particular direction- just as her physical form shifted even closer to him.
Close enough to reach out, and touch-
“Stop,” he commanded her, reasserting himself verbally through all of the mental anguish.
And stop, the plant queen did.
With her bare feet folded underneath her backside, Ivy presented herself in a very obedient, most un-Ivy manner.
Somehow, someway, that pose only made her more attractive. More alluring.
His eyes narrowed. More dangerous.
But it would seem that his bodily wants far outweighed his caution and common sense at this point.
“I need some assurances from you, Ivy.”
“Of course, lover,” she smiled at him without hesitation, looking up at him like an obedient house pet.
“Non-negotiable.”
“As you say.”
“No compromises.”
“Indeed.”
His eyes remained narrowed through every purring affirmation from the redhead, but his internal lust spoke faster than his judgment would deter.
“No saliva,” he listed off the first condition. “I know how deep your poison runs. Anything you do, you do without any...natural lubricant.”
Ivy smiled, and nodded seemingly without issue. “I accept.”
Following her affirmation, he reached behind him, and produced a rectangular black vial.
Tossing it to the ground, he let her glimpse at it for a second as the contents of it became mutually understood.
“No treachery,” he further stipulated after depositing the lube. “We do this, it’s done. I can hack into the security cameras all around so this footage will never be used by you or anyone here. Once I leave through those doors, this interaction never happened.”
“Our time together will be preserved in the rich banks of memory. Only to be accessed in my most urgent....time of need,” she drawled out suggestively.
His fists reflexively balled.
There was no other way to put it: He shouldn't be doing this.
But his lips….they kept moving.
“Like I said, Ivy: One….time,” he grated at her in a growling reminder, reluctantly uncurling his fingers.
The Batman went to his utility belt, and in a shocking display that went against everything that he stood for…
… he unbuckled.
Ivy watched as the detective effectively disarmed himself right in front of her, taking the belt in one hand and then tossing it by the wayside.
With even greater reluctance, he pulled at his pants, sliding down the war-worn fabric that had clothed him for the entirety of the night.
She watched with gleaming eyes, and openly salivating lips, at the willful shedding of the Dark Knight’s armor.
Next went the underpants, revealing a pair of white trousers with the unmistakable phallic bulge present.
“Oh, my darling…” For once, Ivy was speechless as she saw the bareness of his toned, muscled thighs before her.
Her eyes fixated upon that bulge. “May I?”
“...go on,” he grunted, perhaps feeling that the point of no return had already been broached many, many steps ago.
And so she did, reaching out with a curious hand first to seemingly touch the fabric that concealed his manhood.
Painted fingernails traced over the shape of masculine arousal, finally gripping at the waistband.
Then, she pulled it down, revealing first a heavily erect pole pointed right at her with a set of hairless balls dangling beneath it.
His size was more than just acceptable; it was much like the rest of him: superior to the average meat.
She drew in a sharp breath, almost in awe of the instrument of the Dark Knight’s sexuality.
For good reason too.
The armored mammal was always so repressed in his bare desires.
But now...well, no longer.
For that very reason, she reached out again to touch him.
The real him.
She felt the foreskin against her fingers, the subtle heat pulsating from his well-endowed girth.
Ivy spent a solid moment just feeling him in her hand, tracing the veins of his flesh from root to tip, and then back down.
The texture. The initial twitches of excitement to womanly flesh cradling it.
It was all so, so very real.
To that, Batman only had one thing to say: “Do what you have to.”
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