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“Hey, pretty boy. Look alive.”
Dick stirs as if he's rousing himself from a deep sleep, blinking through the haze of pain that's descended around his head. His lips come apart with some difficulty, sticky blood coagulating between them. His nose has stopped bleeding for now, he thinks, but it's only a matter of time before someone decides he looks particularly “hittable” again and re-breaks it.
“Mmn, what? Sorry, are we still doing the 'beating' thing?” He yawns, jaw popping back into place as he does so. “Right, right, sure. Gimme a second. How's this? Oh, no, please don't hit me any more!”
His over-the-top performance, akin to that of a drama student without a mind for subtlety, doesn't get any laughs from Penguin's thugs. Tough crowd. One of them snatches him by the hair for what has to be the fiftieth time that evening. Dick barely flinches.
“Stop actin' so tough. You're makin' this harder on yourself,” the guy sneers.
“Oh, is this 'hard?'” Dick asks, cocking his head to the side as much as he's able.
He flashes a smile and opens his mouth to say something else snarky, but one of the men interrupts him, grabbing his own crotch and thrusting forward with a, “No, but this is!”
Pack of lemmings that they are, they all start to snicker. Dick wrinkles his nose. He should ignore that, shouldn't say anything to rile them up any more, but god, it's just so hard to keep his mouth shut.
“What is it?” He squints like a granny without her glasses. “Sorry, I didn't bring my microscope.”
That does it. The crowd stops laughing, a childish “Ooooh” swelling up among them while Mr. Hard's face screws up in barely-contained fury. Even Dick has to admit he went kinda low there, but they make it so easy that he can't bring himself to feel too bad.
But when the guy storms up to him and snatches his hair away from the other guy — seriously, what is it with those guys and his hair? — Dick feels like maybe he should've held back just this once.
“I'll give you a nice, good look,” the man says, before shoving Dick's face straight into his crotch.
This gets more of a reaction from Dick than anything else has tonight. He can't stop himself from letting out a muffled cry, shimmying his shoulders in a vain attempt to get away. The ropes don't budge, and everyone howls with laughter, especially the douchebag whose crotch he's currently getting intimately acquainted with. Great.
“Bet he just loves that,” someone else says, and the men hoot and whistle in agreement.
“That what you want, fairy?” The guy grinds up against his face, so close that Dick can't even manage to open his mouth wide enough for a bite. “This why you been so bored all night? Couldn't wait for us to get to this part?”
Okay. So he's lost control of the situation just a little. Dick keeps his mouth shut — unable to answer like this, anyway — and tries to focus on squirming out of his bonds. Around him, he can hear more men start to advance.
“Hey,” someone says, “boss said we can't kill him, right? But he ain't never said we can't have some fun with him.”
Dick hopes at least one of them will express disgust, or at least reluctance, but all he hears is a murmur of agreement. He's starting to think he probably could've toned down some of his insults earlier in the evening, but hindsight is 20/20.
“Whaddya say, pretty boy?” the guy above him asks, finally pulling him back so he can look him in the eye. “Wanna put that mouth o' yours to good use for once?”
Dick gives himself a chance to think about his answer. He could be contrite. It'd be embarrassing, but if he appealed to their human nature, maybe they'd get over their dumb bravado and realize what they were about to do was insane. Or he could stay silent, spare himself the indignity of begging, and hope that satisfied them enough to get them to back off.
He darts a tongue out to lick his lips, considering his words very carefully.
“...Oh, this is a gang rape now? I hope it's not as dull as the beating, because yikes. Dunno how much longer I can stay awake.”
So that was definitely the wrong answer. Dick inwardly curses his inability to shut the fuck up, but god, he just can't stand the idea of not being able to make fun of this pack of apes. It's who he is. It's in his blood. It's...
It's a really bad character trait, to be honest. He silently admits that to himself as his head snaps to the side, victim of another punch.
“Don't worry,” the guy says, cracking his knuckles. “We'll make it real interesting for you.”
That sounds pretty bad. Dick tries not to look too outwardly fearful as his eyes dart around the room in search of something, anything, to use to his advantage. Hell, right now would be a really great time for Bruce to show up.
But he doesn't, and Dick's line of sight is cut off by one of the men, pants open and half-hard cock pointed at his mouth. Dick clamps his lips closed tight, which earns him another chuckle.
“Look,” the guy calls over his shoulder. “His mouth's finally shut!”
“Shoulda tried that sooner,” another says, to a round of snickering agreement.
Dick tries to turn his head, but a firm hand in his hair keeps him in place. The man's cockhead presses up against his lips, and he's about to resort to violence when he hears the unmistakable click of a gun's safety turning off. A glance to the side shows one of the henchmen holding a pistol to his head.
“No biting,” he says. “We ain't s'posed to kill you, but I got no qualms taking out one of those pretty little kneecaps of yours.”
“You've got to be—” Dick starts, but the thug above him uses that opportunity to shove his cock inside.
It's not big enough to reach the back of his throat, but Dick sputters a bit anyway from the surprise of it all. He feels the guy's cock start to swell, throbbing on top of his tongue, and that's when the reality of the situation really sinks in. These guys are serious. They're really about to do this to him. Dick's so floored, so aghast that a whole room full of people are just standing by and letting this happen, encouraging it, that he doesn't even think about biting.
“C'mon, suck,” the man says as he starts to thrust.
This isn't happening. Jesus, this isn't happening. Dick squirms some more, rope burning his wrists, but the mechanism keeping him tied to the chair doesn't budge. He needs to get free, needs to— to—
Someone else rounds on him, all hands, wrapping his arms around Dick from behind and palming his crotch. “You gotta get him into it,” he says, “so's he wants it. Gotta turn 'im on.”
“Bet he's turned on already,” one of the others says. “Ain't that right, Nightwing? Get yourself all caught up because you wanted to spend some time with us?”
“No duh. Look at what he's wearing. He wants people to stare.”
“Such a fuckin' tease, aren't ya?”
“Show 'im what happens to prissy little bitches who think they're too good for us!”
The noise swells, somehow making itself known over the pounding of Dick's own heartbeat in his ears. Everyone's much closer now, watching him, laughing at him, and the guy behind him continues to touch him, hands rough against his uniform. Dick tries to breathe, to steady his head, but all he can do is suck in tiny breaths through his nose as the man in front of him continues to fuck his face.
Dick doesn't suck like he's told, but he can't stop a few muffled groans from escaping his throat. A combination of the hands on his crotch and the total indignity of the situation gets to him, and manifests as noises that, luckily, are too soft for most of the men to hear.
But it's impossible not to feel them. Warily, he watches as the guy above him goes hazy-eyed, and then, all at once, he pulls out and tugs sharply on Dick's hair. Dick barely has a moment to catch his breath before he feels hot, wet cum splash onto his face, and he clamps his lips shut, spitting out what already landed there. His mask keeps any from getting in his eyes, but it whites out one of his lenses, and he shuts his eyes so he doesn't have to see it anymore.
They're cheering. Hooting and whooping like frat boys, clapping the first guy on the back from the sounds of it. Dick lets them, mouth firmly shut for once, and he's so focused on the feeling of warm cum dripping down his cheek that he doesn't notice another man stepping up until his cock is at his lips.
“No,” he starts, eyes snapping open, trying to turn his head to the side. He ends up looking down the barrel of the gun he forgot was there, and it presses against his face until he's facing the right way again. He clamps his lips shut, but the new man grips his chin and forces his thumb forward until Dick's teeth part. After that, all he can manage is a sound like “Nuhhhh” before the cock shoves inside.
This one's bigger. Thicker, too. The man rocks his hips, and Dick's mouth quickly fills, jaw stretching, air even harder to come by now.
“Come on, I know you can do better than that,” the thug says, but Dick staunchly refuses to move. He won't encourage this, he won't—
He hadn't realized the guy behind him withdrew his hands until they come back, this time accompanied by something cool and flat. A knife. It slices through the front of his pants, and Dick's powerless to protest, any dissenting noise only serving to excite the guy in front. The knife gets tucked away, and two rough hands come back to his crotch, one stroking his cock, the other playing with his balls. Dick's eyelids flutter, and, god, he's actually starting to get hard from it.
“That's it,” the guy behind him coos, so teasingly soft to the point where it's sickening. “Let daddy take care of ya, princess.”
“You're sick,” one of the other guys says dismissively.
Dick agrees.
So he's not sure why it makes him moan.
“Ooh, he likes it,” says the guy whose cock is in his mouth. He laughs and presses forward, and Dick squirms, but those too-skilled hands in his lap draw out a whimper, and he runs his tongue over the underside of the thug's length before he even realizes what he's doing. “Nightwing's a dirty little bitch.”
“Ain't surprising,” one guy says.
“All them hero types got daddy issues,” chimes another. “You think it's just the chicks, but then you see a guy like this, and—”
Dick tunes out whatever stupid thing the man says, and instead redoubles his efforts on getting free. He can't let this keep going on. Nightwing's reputation will already take a severe hit because of this. If he actually gets off on it, then what chance does he have of terrifying criminals in the future? He just needs to focus, to wriggle his hands a little more and—
“I think he wants some more,” says the guy behind him. Dick can hear the snicker in his voice. He realizes his hands are exactly level with the man's crotch, his hard cock just inches away from where Dick had been struggling. “Greedy little whore, ain'tcha?”
Dick groans out some protests, but it doesn't do much good. The man behind him grinds his clothed dick up against his hands, and Dick abruptly realizes how lightheaded he is. He wants to blame it on his inability to take a proper breath, but then his cock throbs, and he lets out a noise of frustration before he can stop himself.
Another man steps up, and Dick can see him unzipping his pants out of the corner of his eye. “Don't hog 'im,” he says, and the first man grumbles, but pulls out for a second anyway.
“No,” Dick says in the split second that he's able. He surprises himself with how breathy he sounds, and then another cock is in his mouth, fucking his face even faster than the other two right off the bat.
Oh, god, it's too much. Someone — he can't even tell who any more — wipes the drying cum off of his face with a rough thumb, then rubs his cock over his cheek. There's a brief, stupid altercation about this being too close for the second man's comfort, but someone wisely points out that they're both fucking a dude's mouth anyway, which makes the whole thing pretty gay by default.
Despite everything, Dick wants to roll his eyes.
He's passed back and forth from one cock to the other, thick precum-tasting spit dripping between his mouth and their shafts, and then a third person squeezes in, and it's all Dick can do to keep track of his own breathing. Some take him fast, some deep, some without much coordination at all, and Dick gets so overwhelmed by it that he doesn't even notice himself straining forward at first. It isn't until one of the men points it out that he realizes he's been sucking, and licking, and holding his mouth open on his own, lost in sensation and overtaken by reflex.
“Fuckin' bitch,” one says, while another comes on his face and in his hair.
“Stop, stop,” Dick breathes, squirming in his seat, that damn guy behind him still jerking him off. He means it, but he doesn't sound like he does, which the men surrounding him are happy to point out.
“You like that, Slutwing?” one guy asks, a man with a thick, veiny cock.
The hand in his lap is batted away, and someone else with big hands starts to jerk him hard and fast. As a result, Dick only moans in answer before his mouth is occupied once again.
His head's spinning, rational thoughts looming just out of reach, like the surface of the water taunting a drowning man. He realizes he hasn't been working on undoing his binds at all, and a traitorous little part of him suggests that maybe, just maybe, it's because he doesn't really want to.
He shoves that thought as far under the rug as it'll go.
He starts to feel more hands on him — his chest, his legs, his back. He can't tell who's who any more. He imagines some great, big beast with a hundred arms, cradling him and violating him in every way possible. Those hands untie him long enough to free him from the chair, then bind his arms behind his back again, and when he feels fingers underneath him, ripping his uniform and poking around places they haven't been able to reach before, he realizes, no, not every way, yet.
“No,” he gasps as he's shoved off the chair and onto his knees. Someone with strong hands rips his uniform even more. Thick fingers drag between his asscheeks, over his hole, and he gets more frantic, shaking his head. “Nononono, please, I—”
Someone spits on him, uses that as lube to shove a finger inside, and if it weren't for the hand in his hair, Dick would have fallen onto his face then and there.
“Tight,” the guy says, thrusting his finger in and out up to the second knuckle. “No wonder he likes to show this ass off.”
“You like that?” asks the man in front of him, pressing his cock up against Dick's face. It's hard and heavy, slick with his spit, and Dick tries frantically to ignore the urge that comes over him, the one telling him to suck the man's balls into his mouth. “Want someone inside you, bitch?”
For once, even though he's free to talk, Dick is speechless. He stares with wide eyes up at his captors, ordinary thugs, Penguin's cannon fodder, and can't believe he's here, on his knees for them, fucking enjoying himself. How does he even begin to come back from this? What can he say? What can he do? He's actually thankful when a cock gets shoved down his throat. It keeps the silence from stretching on too long.
The chorus of taunts gets even louder, and someone slaps his ass while the finger inside of him keeps on thrusting. He gets spit on again, and it splatters over his skin, drips down his balls, and when a second finger presses inside, he thinks about how sloppy he must look.
He doesn't expect to like the mental image as much as he does.
“There we go,” the guy behind him says, and Dick realizes he's rocking back against his fingers, straining for more. He can feel the tips just barely brush against his prostate, but it's not enough, it's not enough, and when someone calls out, “Fuck 'im,” he moans in traitorous agreement.
“Stop, I don't,” he starts, as soon as his mouth is free. He can feel someone lining up behind him. “W-wait, no, I— No, no, aah—”
“Take it, fucking take it, fucking take my goddamn load,” the guy in front of him is muttering, stroking himself fast, not listening to him, and Dick shudders when thick ropes of cum paint his already-ruined face.
A spit-slick cockhead presses forward against his ass, breaching that tight ring of muscle, and another man shoves into Dick's mouth before he can protest any more. And then he's getting filled at both ends, thick cock stretching him far more than those fingers did, so much it burns. But the man rocks his hips in shallow, jerky motions, and he feels his cock against his prostate, and god, oh god, oh god, he likes it. He wants more. Jesus Christ, he fucking wants these men to take him, wants to moan and cry and bounce on their cocks until they're all spent.
The realization sends a full-body shudder coursing through him, so obvious that everyone sees. “He likes it,” they say, “fucking slut,” and Dick's eyes roll up into the back of his head.
He feels like little more than a toy between both men, not even holding up his own weight. The hands on his hips and in his hair do that for him, big and rough and steady, and all Dick has to do is feel, which he does in abundance. He feels, and he listens, hearing people fuck into their own fists as often as they make fun of him.
No matter what they say, all of them are watching him. And, God forgive him, Dick Grayson, former acrobat, lover of the limelight, eats up their attention. He hates himself for it, but he does.
At some point, someone else with a blade cuts through more of his uniform, exposing his back. It becomes a new target for their cum, low where a tramp stamp would be, painting him as theirs. The first man to fuck him comes all over his hole and the insides of his thighs, and the next one uses it as lube. Dick, feeling impossibly tarnished, rocks back against the second man, who feels so, so much better all wet like that.
They talk about sloppy seconds and tight cunts and a million and one more things Dick can't believe apply to him, every word sending a new wave of pleasure through him. It's terrible, it's irresponsible, this could ruin him like nothing before, but he can't stop moaning, can't stop straining for it, and when they move him around and sit him in someone's lap, he starts bouncing of his own free will.
He realizes too late that he no longer has a cock in his mouth, too late to check his bad habit of running his mouth. Brows knitted, chest heaving, he fucks himself on the cock of some guy whose name he doesn't even know, and wishes desperately his hands weren't tied so that he could jerk himself to completion.
“Yeah, yes, yes, yeah,” he breathes, and the men hoot and holler, but he doesn't care, he doesn't care. “Oh god, oh god oh god oh fuck, please, nngh, like that, c'mon, fuck me fuck me fuck me ohhhh my god.”
He feels someone tug his head back by his hair, lets them slap him, licks the sticky cum off their fingers when they shove them in his mouth. As soon as they pull back, he tells them, “More, more, more,” and they oblige, laughing at his desperation while they shove things in him and on him and pinch and slap every inch of his exposed skin.
After the guy he's riding finishes, they pull him off and shove him forward, ass up high in the air. He feels open, exposed, and one man easily stops his gaping hole from tightening, swirling a thumb around in the cum inside his ass.
“Please,” Dick says, cheek pressed hard against the floor, “please, I need to. Need to, to, oh my god, oh, my god—”
“Aww,” the man says, “princess wants to come. Think we should let 'im?”
The crowd makes a noise that's one part assent, one part dissent, and a final part post-coital indifference. Dick wiggles his ass, dripping thick streams of precum to the floor. Someone calls out from across the room.
“Hey,” he says, “use this.”
Dick can't see what this is, but he doesn't care, figures anything is better than nothing. He whimpers, so pathetic, so weak, but his reputation can die in a fucking fire for all he cares, so long as he gets to come.
When the man nudges the thing inside, he hardly has to stretch Dick's hole any more. Still, whatever it is is wider than any of their cocks, and harder, too, something that feels like it definitely wasn't made for this. Dick feels like he knows what it is, it's on the tip of his tongue, but then it presses forward, and he loses his train of thought on the tail end of a yelp.
“Holy shit, I can't believe he's taking it!” one man barks, clapping his hands.
“Bet he does this to himself all the time. Hey, Nightwing, that true?”
Dick hardly hears him, eyes wide, a whole new type of pain blossoming beside the pleasure. He strains to look behind him, heart pounding in his chest, because it can't be, they can't be using—
His escrima stick. The man has it, plain as day, slowly shoving it inside of him, and with every centimeter, Dick feels like this has got to be as far as it'll go, it's got to stop now. Because otherwise he'll split in half, he really will, but no, it just keeps going, and he sobs against the floor.
Just when he feels like he's at the end of his rope, the man starts to thrust it shallowly in and out, and Dick surprises even himself when he moans.
“Jesus,” one of them whispers.
“That looks like it hurts,” another says.
“What a slut,” says the one holding his escrima, the only one Dick cares about right now. “Say it, Nightwing. Say you're a slut and we'll let you come.”
“I'm, I, mmm,” Dick babbles, trying for the words even though he's shaking all over. “Take, take it out, please, please, hurts, hurtshurtshurts—”
“Those ain't the magic words.”
Callous. Unforgiving. Dick can't understand how cruel people can be sometimes, and he doesn't understand why he's still hard, why his own escrima filling him up feels so good, but he doesn't have to understand, does he? He just has to do as he's told.
“Slu-t,” he manages, though it takes two breaths. “Sl-slut, I'm a... slut, I... F-fuck... Just want... just want... Please...”
The escrima wiggles around even more. Dick sobs and shakes and almost comes just like that.
“Want what?”
“Come, f-fuck, so good, love it,” Dick says, and the guy reaches around to jerk him, but he keeps talking anyway. “C-come, please, slut, your slut, I'm a fucking oh my god, please, please look at me, please, so cl-close, so— Ungh—”
And they do look at him, he's sure, even the ones whose attention had wandered. They watch him spasm around his own weapon, and buck like an animal into another man's fist, and come and whine and cry until he passes out. And he's sure, in the haze right before his mind shuts off, that he's the best thing they've ever seen.