Robing Gets Cat Scrath Fever Chapter One By Evan Andrews
The following story is a work of fan fiction. All characters depicted in it belong to and are trademarked and copyrighted by DC Comics and/or its subsidiaries. I am not related to the company and make no claim of ownership over the characters. The story depicts males in sexual situations, mostly with other males. If that offends you, if you are underage, or if reading such is illegal where you are please stop reading now. Thank you.
The story is set in the New Teen Titans era, shortly before Dick Grayson becomes Nightwing in a continuity long since superseded.
If you enjoy this story, or even if you hate it, please help keep Nifty going by contributing at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Chapter One: Scene in a Warehouse
Robin moved through the dark of a Gotham City night like a shark, rooftop to rooftop. Unlike a shark, though, he was hunting with a partner. Close at hand, Batman was also converging on Catwoman's lair. There they'd corner their prey, make short shrift of her henchmen, and haul her away to hand over to the law. The Boy Wonder now stood on top of the warehouse he'd been making for, and he faced a dilemma. He could come in from the top, but something told him to leave the showy entrance to his senior partner. Instead he dropped a bat-rope over the parapet and slid down the line to the loading dock. Since loading dock doors were notoriously noisy, most criminals didn't bother putting too many guards on them, but every loading dock also had a side door. Picking the lock was the work of a moment, and Robin found himself facing the dark interior. Facing the dark and the single guard Catwoman had assigned. The two men closed and grappled, but Robin had the advantage of his opponent. Blind fighting in the dark was a skill Batman had insisted he master. A punch, a jab, a block here and there, and finally an uppercut, and the hapless guard lay still at his booted feet. Robin pulled out a pin-light and shined it at the man. He was white, with nappy hair, the usual mask, and his tee-shirt let everyone know that he was Calico. Villains all did this, labelling their henchmen, and Robin didn't know if this was evidence of villains being just too lazy to learn their henchmen's real names or if they were affording the people who worked for them a certain level of dignity by giving them a special identity. Maybe the shrinks at Arkham should ask one of them someday.
Leaving the loading dock, Robin entered the warehouse. He was wary, but apparently not wary enough. Four hands grabbed him from behind and held him while a fifth plowed a fist into his stomach. No matter how much training he'd had to strengthen his abdominals, no matter that his costume was augmented against just this attack, the fifth hand seemed to know exactly where to hit him and how hard. Pure agony consumed him. The air flew out of his lungs, and his muscles tried desperately to bend him in half. But the hands held him upright, gasping and at their mercy. Suddenly the light flashed to life, and after his eyes adjusted he found himself at the far side of an open space from Catwoman herself. A svelte henchman (Russian Blue was the name on his tee-shirt), stood behind her, and two more henchmen (Siamese One and Siamese Two—yes, they were identical twins, though not conjoined. Absently Robin wondered where villains got hold of these themed henchmen. Was there an employment agency specializing in henchmen?) held the middle ground. A burly black-haired man with Irish eyes (Manx) stood on his one side and on the other a muscular bald black man (Sphinx). This tableau was held for a requisite few moments, and then Batman made his dramatic and well-timed entrance.
A skylight gave way, and amid the falling debris, Batman landed in the midst of this standoff. People made jokes about "superhero landing" but Batman was his own man. He all but floated down and landed on his own two feet before striking his "Dark Knight" pose. The Siamese twins immediately turned to face the new player, and, to do them credit, they did not run. Rather, they assumed fighting stances. The minute they did that Robin knew that Catwoman had not stinted on her henchmen for this caper. They were a formidable bunch. Batman responded by assuming his own fighting stance, and the three men fell into a sort of dance—a few feints and a few testing strikes as they took each other's measure. Robin glanced over at Catwoman who was watching this with a feline satisfaction. For most villains, their egos would have had them taunting Batman by now, saying something outrageous, but not her. She simply watched as the fighters worked the floor. There had to be some reason they hadn't joined full combat yet, and suddenly Robin saw Catwoman's plan.
"Batman!" the Boy Wonder cried, "It's a trap!" but it was too late.
Catwoman pressed the button on a remote that had suddenly appeared in her hand. The floor fell out from underneath the Dark Knight, and he fell out of sight.
"There, that should keep him busy for a while. For long enough in any case," she purred.
"What have you done to him, you fiend?!" Robin yelled at the feline she-menace.
Catwoman strode across to Robin, a look of pure satisfaction on the unmasked part of her face. Russian Blue kept pace a step behind her, and the Siamese twins fell in on either side behind them.
"Chill out, Boy Wonder," she said, "I just gave my old friend something to keep him away for a few critical minutes. Batman will be back to play with me another day, but today my inner pussy prefers playing with a Robin."
Standing right in front of Robin now, exuding menace, the villainess grabbed hold of the lapels of his red vest and ripped it open, exposing his magnificent physique.
"Very pretty," she purred as she took his body in from his throat to the waistband of his Kelly green spandex trunks. She reached out, and Robin braced himself. He'd been in this position before. They called him the Boy Hostage for a reason. Villains always wanted to get their hands on him to use as bait for a trap for Batman, but before that they'd try to humiliate him.
"Now she'll run her hands over my chest," Robin thought, "And maybe she'll feel me up."
But he was not in the least prepared for what really happened. Catwoman suddenly hauled back and raked the claws of her left hand across his chest, leaving three parallel scratches across his left pectoral.
"Ow!" he cried.
The scratches stung like all get out.
"Oh be quiet," Catwoman said, "They're just scratches." Here she giggled, "Cat scratches. They'll bleed a bit and be all better in a couple of days. Or at least normally they would."
She snapped her fingers.
"Henches, we're done here. Bring him."
As the minions wrestled Robin across the floor, he felt something strange. The scratches throbbed, which he expected, but his temperature also started to rise, his vision blurred, and his coordination became impaired. He even started to sweat. What the fuck was this? Cat scratch fever? By the time they got the Boy Wonder to the waiting van, Manx and Sphinx, his two minders as it were, were all but carrying the studly sidekick.
As they tossed him face down into the back of the van he thought, "Wonderful. Boy Hostage time again."