Work Text:
"You know," Barbara says, voice quavering like a knife balancing on its point, "I do have a perfectly lovely bed upstairs."
"I'm aware of that." Sofia presses the words against the bend of Barbara's knee as she pulls it over her shoulder. She shifts slightly on the bar stool, makes sure she's perfectly balanced, before she takes Barbara's other leg and moves it into the same position. As she pushes Barbara's skirt up to bunch around her waist, she continues, "We can move to it. If you truly want to."
Barbara shakes her head, and the platinum strands framing her face fall back slightly out place. She looks exquisite, surrounded by the oil-slick shadows of the empty club, neck long and pale, breathless with anticipation even though Sofia has barely touched her.
It's easy to see how James was in love with her once, in another lifetime.
Sofia catalogs the moment carefully as she starts working her mouth up the inside of Barbara's thigh. She meticulously notes the way Barbara's fingers are wrapped tightly around the edge of the polished mahogany top of the bar, the shuddering gasp that leaves her pink painted lips as Sofia moves higher, the insistent pressure of her heels on Sofia's back.
She can't afford to make this a regular occurrence. She can't allow it to get in the way of her plans for Gotham.
But that doesn't mean she's going to forget about it anytime soon.
She would never be that cruel to herself.