Batman: Brides of the New Crusader - 1

AN: Similarly themed but not connected to Superman: Brides! Hope you like the opening chapter!

- - -

The concoction was beginning to froth. Bubbles were fizzling to the surface, a couple at first, then more and more until the mixture was shrouded by a thin covering of foam. The pale red fluid was thickening now, turning into a dark nectar.

Good progress. Better than Ivy hoped. Enough to get her to smile.

Ivy held her face over the beaker, letting the potent fumes rise and carry deep into her nose. The sharp tingle in her nostrils was another pleasing sign. It was almost ready… and almost perfect.

“Needs to be stronger.” She murmured to herself.

Ivy turned her attention to the test tube rack sitting across her desk. She scanned the labels, plucking the vial she needed. A thin, purple solution sloshed within. She popped the cap and dumped the whole thing into the mixture. A soft hiss rose from the beaker as the chemicals reacted, mingled, and frothed into an even thicker foam. It rose an inch or so… then quickly subsided. The concoction had darkened even more - a brilliant magenta now. Almost the same deep shade as her own long, wavy tresses.

Ivy liked that. And she liked the sharp tinge to her nostrils even better.

With a pheromone cocktail as strong as this, she’d raise pulses among even the dead. Not even the Batman would be able to resist her wiles. It just needed a little while longer to cook.

“Almost.” Ivy mused as she stepped back. “Almost…”

There was a comfy sense of peace trailing after Ivy’s satisfaction. The safehouse was grimy, dank, and not much to look at - as expected from an old, abandoned fishery - but Ivy liked the quiet. And surrounded by her darling, deadly babies, she was more at peace than she’d felt in a long, long -

The sharp squealing of old, rusty hinges pierced through the calm. The redhead went tense… as did the dozens of thick, living vines lurking up in the factory rafters. Then came the sound of footsteps. Loud and plodding.

A visitor. A trespasser.

Caution gave way to anger. Outrage boiled up in Ivy’s chest as she pushed off from her workstation. She marched over the source of the disturbance, knowing all the might and power of the green was at her back.

“Who’s there?” She demanded, bare feet padding along the concrete floor. “Who dares intrude on my work?”

Ivy was answered by the sound of boots drawing closer. Out of the shadows came long legs, wide hips, athletic tummy, and firm, perky breasts. A gymnast’s figure clad in scant attire - thigh-high stockings and hip-hugging shorts, a corset top holding those modest breasts high and proud, and arm-length fingerless gloves. All in the same coat of red and black. 

Above the neck was a pretty, white face smeared with dirt and grime, set under a tousled mess of blonde hair. Dyed pigtails ran all the way down to her shoulders. 

Ivy wanted to groan. The trespasser was familiar. And pouting.

“Don’t get your twigs twisted.” Snarked Harley Quinn. “I come in peace - yaddah, yaddah, yaddah.”

“Harley.” Ivy relaxed - but only just so. Even at her most calm, the blonde had never been a stabilizing element. And with such sensitive work being done… “This really isn’t a good time.”

“Nice to see you too, Red.” Harley wrinkled her nose as she marched on, dragging behind her a scuffed mallet. Harley herself looked little better. Her stockings were frayed and torn, her corset top was missing a strap, her facepaint and makeup were smeared and running, and she was spattered from head to toe in muck. It was clear Harley had been put through the wringer.

Ivy watched as the blonde hauled herself over to the ratty old couch pushed up against the far wall. It was like watching her turn into jelly as she flopped onto it face-first. A weak, muffled groan followed. Almost enough to stir up feelings of pity.

A sigh blew through Ivy’s lips. Already she could feel the beginnings of a headache.

“Fine. You can stay. But I’m doing important work, Harl. Just… don’t distract me.”

Ivy went back to her desk. Meanwhile, the blonde mess stirred on the couch, lazily turning over onto her back.  Baby blue eyes settled on the workstation… and the reddish-purple concoction bubbling over the burner. For a long while she was silent, simply watching.

“Watcha working on? Acid that melts people’s faces off?” Harley eventually pried.

“No. Too messy.”

“Aw. No fun.”

Ivy flicked her eyes over to the couch. There was that pout again. Like a schoolgirl stuck in detention. The immaturity had some charm. Some. Best experienced in small doses.

“If you must know, I’m developing a stronger pheromone cocktail. Something to keep the edge over my enemies.” Ivy explained after a silence.

“Ha!” Harley snorted, perking up. “Is Poison Ivy losing her mystique?”

“The Ivy mystique is fine.” Ivy snapped back - a bit too hotly. “I can have the average man drooling over me like that.”

Ivy snapped her fingers. Harley didn’t look impressed. That little smirk of her was insufferable.

“I bet you’re not making that stuff for the average Joe Schmoe.”

“Very perceptive, Harley.”

“The Bat shot you down one-too-many times?” The blonde was sitting up now, all her troubles a world away, looking all too pleased to needle at Ivy’s nerves.

A snarl of frustration. Ivy couldn’t hold it in. She slammed her hands down on the table top.

“He’s developed a resistance to me. To me. Our last fight, my pheromones were all but useless. The bastard didn’t so much as blink! Treated me like just another common criminal!” 

“What a jerk!” Harley jeered.

Ivy had to agree. She had started to pace, clenching her hands into fists as she went back and forth, back and forth, fuming as the memories played clear in her mind. Batman, the big brute, looking at her with those cold, judging eyes. That stony face unflinching under that dark cowl. Unafraid. Unfeeling. 

Fucking bastard.

The man had troubled and vexed her for far, far too long.

“There’s nothing common about Poison Ivy. And this…” Ivy set her eyes upon the formula simmering in the beaker with renewed admiration. “This ought to remind Batman just what kind of woman he’s dealing with.”

Across the room, Harley let out a dreamy hum. She was leaning forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands, eyelashes fluttering.

“I think the new stuff is working fine already. Listening to you is getting me a little hot under the collar.” Harley let out a playful purr.

Ivy rolled her eyes.

“Behave. Please.” She gave Harley a look. “My safehouse, my rules.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harley performed a mock salute as she sank back into the couch. The pout had returned to her lips.

The blonde’s sullen look stirred up a small pang of sympathy within the green goddess… but not enough to get her to stop. Not when her masterpiece was almost ready.

“If you’re going to stick around, fine. The rule stands - no distracting me. I’ll be done soon, anyway.” Ivy placated. It seemed to work well enough - Harley no longer looked like her puppy just died.

The blonde sat up excitedly, practically squirming in her seat.

“And then we can catch up?” Mischief shined in those baby blue eyes. “Fool around, maybe?”

“We’ll see.” Ivy conceded. It would be a nice way to celebrate…

Now Harley really was bouncing. She let out a little squeal, both fists shooting up into the air. A little cute. Not even Ivy could deny that.

“You’re the best, Red!”

Ivy allowed a tiny smirk.

“I know.”

-  -  -

Harley had spoken too soon. “Done soon” turned out to be twenty minutes and counting. How “best” could Red be if she was letting a cute, perky blonde waste away from boredom on her couch?

At least she’s got a TV.

It wasn’t one of those old bricks, either. An actual modern flatscreen with wi-fi and everything. Live TV, apps like Netflix and Hulu, all that good stuff. Of course, Ivy demanded no distractions - that meant the shows were practically on mute.

Whatever. Better than nothing.

So Harley went channel surfing. First it was Hitler looking for alien artifacts. Then it was Real Housewives of Blackgate. Then some lady doctor swooning over a dreamy surgeon and a hot young resident. 

Boring. Where were the gags? Where was the spice?

A few channel hops later, Harley found it. It was sudden, so sudden the Cupid of Crime jolted up in her seat - the raunchy scenes playing on screen seized her attention. Clenched it. Harley felt it in her belly.

“Woof! Didn’t know you had the premium channels, Red!”

Out of the corner of her vision, Harley could see Ivy doing a double-take. The buxom redhead blinked, for a moment too stunned for words.

“Harley, what the hell are you watching?” The aghast curiosity in the woman’s tone had Harley feeling positively giddy. She clicked the remote, bringing up the channel guide while up on screen Batman was shoving his fat cock into Catwoman’s open mouth.

“Adventures of the Caped Cock-sader.” Harley read aloud, snickering.

The costumes were as cheap as the title, with the titular stud donning what could only be hockey pads spray-painted the same coat of black. The lucky lady with her gullet stuffed with dick had her latex catsuit stripped down to her waist, letting her pair of balloon tits jut out freely. Nothing like Selina’s all-naturals, but Harley could appreciate a big set of honkers all the same.

B-Man was grunting now - loud enough that even the low volume of the TV could pick it up - barring his teeth under the floppy cowl as he pummelled his prick into the pretty kitty’s gaping mouth. Harley had to admire the cat-babe. That was quite a bit of meat to take in.

What a trooper.

Ivy was far less impressed.

“Charming.” She uttered dryly. “Can you change the channel? I’m trying to concentrate here.”

B-Man had both hands on Kitty-Cat’s head, gloved fingers threading through her messy, black hair. Forcing his fat cock down into her poor, poor throat. Harley squeezed her legs together. How long had it been since her last roll in the hay? Two months? Three?

“What’s the matter?” The blonde sent Ivy a devious look. “Don’t want to be reminded of what you’ve been missing?”

“Harley.”

Ivy set her with a glare. Harley held the look for a time, but in the end those pools of severe green won out. Harley threw up her hands.

“Ugh. Fine. No fun allowed.”

Harley flipped the channel right when Bat-Stud was getting ready to plow Cat-Bitch over the hood of the Bat-Rod - shaped like a big dick with tail fins, of course. Now there was Vicki Vale on screen, droning on about corruption in the city government blah, blah, blah. Tuesday in Gotham.

Harley let the news drone on, sinking into the musty couch. She kicked her feet, drummed her fingers, anything to stave off boredom.

The scenes from that skin-flick, though… those stuck in her head. Branded hot right onto her brain.

“You think Batman had a huge dick?” Harley wondered aloud.

Across the room, a heavy sigh rose from Ivy’s workstation.

“Harley…”

“Honest question. Really. Because I think he does.” Comparisons were inevitable when the talent was playing dress-up as Gotham’s favorite crime-fighter. Bat-Stud may have been packing, but Harley couldn’t shake the feeling that, just like his crappy suit, he couldn’t compare to the real deal. “A guy runs around the city, jumping off rooftops, picking fights with the crazies… big cajones, right? I’ll bet he’s got a cock to match. Do you think he’s circumsised?”

A solid thump echoed through the fishery as Ivy slammed her hands on the table. Harley winced, thinking that she was about to get an earful. But then…

“I need to get some supplies from the back.” Ivy spoke calmly. She exhaled then, backing away from the table. “Don’t touch my workstation.”

Harley held up her hands.

“I won’t touch it.”

“Harley, I mean it.”

“I won’t touch! Jeez Louise!”

Ivy hit her with a long, hard look. Like she was trying to brand her instructions on Harley with the fire in her eyes.

Then the redhead was marching off. It was never fun when Red was pissy like this, but there was a silver lining: Harley got a nice view of that full, shapely booty as Ivy was walking away. Sweet, green cheeks spilling out of that high-cut bodice of leaves, jiggling faintly with each angry step.

A short-lasting treat. Ivy was out of sight a moment later.

Leaving Harley alone on the couch.

All alone.

It was inevitable that Harley would end up hovering by Ivy’s work table. It was Red’s own fault really, telling her to stay away.

Talk like that, a girl’s gonna get curious.

Harley inched closer, taking small steps with her hands locked behind her back. She wasn’t breaking any rules. She wasn’t touching anything. Just standing there, getting a close look. Ivy never said she couldn’t look.

The table was set with all sorts of test tubes, beakers, and science thingamajigs. Notepads scribbled with equations and formulas - jeez, Ivy needed to work on her handwriting - and rows of vials labeled in some type of science-y way. Letters and numbers. May as well have been written in hieroglyphs. Harley couldn’t even begin to guess what any of it meant. She wasn’t that kind of doctor.

But damn if it didn’t smell good. The beaker was bubbling with this reddish-purple stuff, thick like a stew’s broth. The fumes were like cotton candy for the nose.

“A shame you never went into the hash business, Red…” Harley mused.

The blonde inched closer, still not actually touching the desk. The labels on the vials were too small to read so she leaned in, squinting, putting her face right up next to the tube rack. There was one that was filled with pink stuff. What did that one say-?

Harley’s foot slipped. She squealed as she tipped forward, swinging her arms wildly to keep balance. It wasn’t enough. Her nose bumped into the pink vial, knocking the whole rack over - right into the main beaker! Harley’s hands shot forward, snatching it just in time - thank God!

Harley’s eyes were big as dinner plates. She didn’t move a muscle. Time seemed to crawl as she held the test tube rack in place, inches above the bubbling mixture. Only when she was sure that she was in the clear did Harley let loose the deep breath she’d been holding.

Then one of the vials - the pink one - slipped free. And down. Right into the purple stuff. Somehow, it popped open in the fall and Harley could only watch in horror as all that pink fluid sloshed out, spreading all over Ivy’s pheromone cocktail.

“Oh, fudge.”

Next came the scramble. Harley was damn lucky it was just the one vial. She plucked it out quickly, ignoring the heat. Then she went back in for a second time for the cap.

Nerves. She was all nerves, eyes darting around on the lookout for Ivy. Red would be back any second and if she saw Harley and her workstation like this…

Harley eyed the formula still frothing in the beaker. A small wave of relief hit when she saw the spill hadn’t altered the coloration - much. It was still a heavy, dark purple. The consistency looked about the same, too.

Maybe… maybe Ivy wouldn’t notice. Harley steadied her breathing, forcing her heartbeat to settle. It wasn’t that bad, she told herself. Everything was peachy.

Calmly, silently, Harley popped the cap back on the near-empty vial. She slipped it back on the rack with the others, in the same place it used to sit. She put everything back how it was. Exactly how it was. Like it never even happened.

Harley was back to watching Vicki Vale by the time Ivy returned. Red’s arms were full of bottles of varying sizes, all swashing with chemicals clear and colored. Science stuff. All Harley had to do now was play it cool.

Harley heard shuffling as Ivy set down the new supplies. She couldn’t bear to watch. She kept her eyes firmly on the TV.

Just play it cool…

“Harley.” Ivy’s voice almost made her jump. Despite the twisting feeling in her gut, Harley turned to face her friend. Somehow she managed to keep it together.

“Yeah?”

To her surprise, Ivy was looking upon her with softened eyes.

“I’m sorry I was rude before.” Ivy spoke gently. “I wasn’t expecting company, is all.”

“No problem, Red. Really.”

Ivy’s face brightened some. Her red lips made a warm smile.

“Let me just finish up my work and then I can make it up to you.” She promised.

Harley fought back a wince. Her stomach was in knots now, made worse by a stab of guilt.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

Ivy was back to work then. She hadn’t noticed a thing out of place. Just like Harley had hoped. So why did she still have that sinking feeling?

Harley's eyes fell on the beaker, watching the purple pheromone cocktail froth and simmer.

“You never told me why you dropped by.” Ivy spoke again, talking over her work.

Harley tore her eyes from the source of her dread. She let out a huff, happy to change the subject.

“I just needed a place to lay low. I got into a scrap, had to book it.”

“A scrap, huh?” Ivy raised a brow. “Must have been pretty bad. You don’t usually run.”

A tiny groan left Harley’s lips as she flopped back on the couch. She spotted her mallet sitting on the floor close by, the painted patterns scuffed and smeared with muck, just as she was. Like it was mocking her.

“That’s Batman for ya. Always ruining a girl’s fun.”

The sound of shattering glass jolted Harley up. Ivy was staring at her, shock and dread plastered all over her lovely face.

“Batman?” Ivy first said quietly. Then her tone grew louder, angrier. “You were running from Batman?”

“Yeah?” Harley sat up slowly, frowning. Hadn’t that been obvious from the start? “Who else would it be? Bird Boy and Batgal don’t work in this city no more.”

Ivy didn’t look placated in the slightest. The woman’s wild, red hair whipped as she shook her head furiously.

“Damn it, Harley!” A loud thump as the redhead slammed her little fists on her dusk. “Why didn’t you say anything? You might have led him right to me!”

“Hey, I’m not sloppy! He tried to tail me and I shook him!”

“Just like he wanted you to think!”

Suddenly the air was split by the sound of shattering glass. Not like Ivy dropping one of those tiny bottles. This sound was bigger, nastier. Coming from high above.

Bits and shards came raining down between them, breaking upon the concrete floor. 

Then came the shadow. 

A dark mass swooped down, landing heavily in the open space. 

The sinking feeling in Harley’s gut was now swallowing up her whole body. She could feel her heart pounding. She could feel it trying to break out of her ribcage.

The shadow moved. It was alive. It rose and rose and rose until it towered over either of them. The black shape loomed. White slits for eyes and two pointed spikes atop its head. Like devil horns.

“Double fudge.” Harley squeaked.

“Ivy. Harley.” Growled the Batman. “You’re both coming with me.”

“Like hell.” Ivy snarled. She threw out an open hand. An instant later, her babies shot forth from the shadows. A dozen thick, spiked vines lashing out with deadly force. All at one single target.

But the Bat was ready.

-  -  -

If Ivy still had blood it would have been boiling. Just the sight of the caped bastard had her seething with rage.

His stupid, stoic face. His damned insufferable morality. Batman was no hero, just another jack-booted stooge for the rotten elite of this diseased, cesspool of a city. And now he was here. Violating her peace. Violating her home.

How dare he?

Her babies, her strong, healthy vines would squeeze the life out of him. Crush his bones into dust-

An explosion ripped through the green tendrils, turning them into black char. Ivy could feel them burn and die. She felt it in her core, in her mutated flesh and bones. Agony.

Batman threw another batarang. It whipped through the air, finding its mark, the blade burying into the winding stalk of another vine. It too detonated. The smoke and fire swallowed up a few more of her darling children.

Ivy shrieked. She sent more vines to attack, craving blood through her tears. But the Bat moved fast, far too fast for a brute of his size. He became one with the shadows again… then the shadows spoke with his voice. His sickeningly deep, baritone voice.

“You can end this now, Ivy. Or I’ll turn your entire garden into mulch.”

Ivy’s eyes darted around, seeking the source. She spotted Harley cradling her mucky mallet to her chest. The blonde was wide-eyed, looking apologetic and fearful as she scrambled over. She would be little help now. Ivy’s gaze then fell upon the beaker on her desk… and the magenta fluid that still simmered within.

“Big talk from an ordinary man in a cape!” Ivy snapped at the shadows. She made a quick run for her desk, snatching up the formula - the heat of the glass didn’t hurt. The sweet scent carried into her nose. The taste of victory crept into her mouth. “Let’s see if you’re singing the same tune when you’re kneeling at my feet!”

“Red…” Harley whispered. “I wouldn’t-”

“Quiet!” Ivy hissed. “This is all your fault anyway!”

The blonde’s face fell. It was almost pitiful.

“But the formula-”

“Needs a test run, doesn’t it? Distract him.”

“What?”

“Do it. You owe me.”

Harley looked at her with pleading eyes. Ivy’s fury did not waver. In the end, the blonde relented with a whimper.

Ivy would make it up to her later. They would celebrate with their new slave.

-  -  -

Bruce kept to the dark, remaining still and silent as a graveyard. He watched and waited.

The vines had retreated, but it was only a matter of time before another strike came. Either from them… or from the other two.

Footsteps. Boots on concrete. Coming from behind. Coming fast.

Bruce was ready. When Harley swung her mallet down from overhead, he just wasn’t there anymore. The comically large hammerhead struck the ground. Cracking the floor.

“Sloppy, Quinn. I heard you coming a mile off.”

The crazed blonde hefted up her mallet, smirking.

“You were supposed to, bat-brain!”

A distraction. As Harley bolted into the dark, Bruce went tense, even more alert now. He flipped open another batarang, keeping Harley in sight as he turned-

Just in time to get splashed in the face with… something. Thick fluid, like juice. It dribbled down over his cowl, trickling over his lips and chin. He was drenched in the stuff. The scent was light and sweet, sweeping up far into his nose and tingling at the back of his mouth. Some of it seeped through his lips, tiny droplets at the edge of his tongue.

With gloved hands he wiped it away from his face, rubbing his eyes clean. He blinked and blinked until his blurry vision came into focus.

There was a green shape before him. Slowly, it morphed into beauty wrapped up in leaves. An angel’s face set under a mane of brilliant red-violet hair.

Poison Ivy. Beaming like she’d just conquered the world. And knowing her speciality with deadly chemicals…

“Ivy.” Bruce spat out the stuff that had gotten into his mouth. “What have you done?”

The green woman let out a triumphant cackle.

“I thought I’d open your eyes, Batman. Always so grim and dour. Why be my enemy… when you can be so much happier as my slave?”

Pheromones, Bruce realized. The substance running down his face, seeping into the gaps of his suit, was a pheromone concoction. He grimaced under his cowl, forcing his heartbeat to remain steady - rushing blood would only hasten the effects of the poison. He had little time as it was. Bruce tapped a special key on the inside of his gauntlet and braced for new feelings of love and loyalty to come rushing in… but those feelings never came.

Interesting.

Seconds ticked by. Batman remained standing, unmoved by the allure of the woman standing before him. Eventually, Ivy’s look of triumph melted away, replaced with confusion. Then dread.

“Sorry, Ivy. We just don’t have the chemistry.”

“Impossible.” The green woman sneered. “My new formula-”

“Tastes like strawberries. And it didn’t do a damn thing. Don’t worry. You and the drawing board will have all the time in the world once you’re back in Arkham.”

Fury took its place in the woman’s eyes again, burning bright. Bruce went for his batarangs. Just in time for another wave of thick, spiked vines to descend upon him.

-  -  -

Harley paced through the damp soil outside the fishery. Loud crashes came from the run down husk. The sounds of shattering glass and splintering wood. Bad signs.

If they were still fighting, that meant the pheromone stuff really didn’t work… because Harley really fucked them up.

The blonde was half-tempted to just book it. Guilt kept her there, waiting outside like some rube. She was screwed either way, really. Ivy would have her ass for ruining her work… or Ivy would have her ass for running away. And Harley couldn’t just leave Red swinging in the breeze.

An explosion rocked the whole building, blowing out the few intact windows that remained. The fishery was on fire now, flames glowing red through the billowing black smoke.

Seeing Ivy running out of there brought Harley a wave of relief. The look on Red’s face, though… that gave her a whole other mess of feelings.

“It… didn’t work?” Harley attempted innocence.

Ivy had no patience for it.

“Not now. Run.”

Then they were both sprinting, making for the maze of the Gotham riverside docks. Harley could hear the fishery start to groan and crumble behind them.

“Weird, huh?” It was nervousness that kept Harley’s mouth running. As they bounded around the corner of another warehouse, Ivy set the blonde with a hard, knowing look.

“When we’re clear, we’re going to have a talk. A long one.”

Harley opened and closed her mouth. Any and all excuses died under the intensity of Ivy’s glare. Eventually, the blonde just swallowed and nodded.

Triple fudge.

-  -  -

“Master Bruce, I received your warning. Are you alright? Shall I prepare the Batwing for emergency extraction?”

"Negative, Alfred. False alarm.”

Behind him, the fishery continued to burn. A bright bonfire at the edge of the Gotham river. 

A problem for the fire department. Batman had two fugitives on the run.

Bruce coughed some smoke out of his lungs. The heat had dried the remnants of the fluid. Now his lips and cheeks were sticky with the stuff. Even through the smell of ash and char, the scent of strawberries lingered.

Ivy had expected to turn him into one of her thralls. It was pure luck that he was still in his right mind.

“I’m coming back in.” He announced with a grimace.

“Are you certain?”

“I am. Ivy doused me with one of her concoctions. No effect so far…”

“But it doesn’t hurt to be sure. I’ll prepare the shower station.”

Bruce clenched and unclenched his fists as he made his way back to the Batmobile. A mix of frustration and restlessness burned in his chest. He didn’t like letting marks get away.

Some of Ivy’s mixture had started to seep into his suit. He could feel it trapped between the material and his skin, slithering through like tiny worms. It all felt tight now. Constricting. Warm, too.

Bruce huffed through his nose. Strawberries again. It was nothing, he reasoned.

The Gotham wetlands were always balmy this time of the year.