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Usually, someone crawling into bed with you in the middle of the night would be a cause for concern.
Especially in Blüdhaven.
Danger oozed from the dark alleys, leeching into the city streets like spilled ink. The rent was low and the number of reliable cops was even lower. It seemed every politician, commissioner, and attorney was bought out by whichever criminal kingpin held the crown at the time.
Blüdhaven was generally considered to be a step up from Gotham, but just barely. The only difference was the total sum of superpowered Arkham escapees per capita.
But, both cities had their saving graces. Namely, their masked protectors.
While Gotham had its caped crusader, the personification of darkness itself, Blüdhaven had its own vigilante.
Nightwing.
He was the first descendant from the Batman’s nest of Robins and the first of his brothers to claim another city under his protection. He was the blur of blue and black that many eyes sought out over the rooftops.
Slowly but surely, the city was beginning to feel like home again. Now, criminals thought twice before taking a step out of line, lest they find themselves bested by an acrobat with a smart mouth.
Nightwing spent his nights as the city’s raptor, circling and descending upon those who prey on the innocent. He moved through alleys and across rooftops with grace, lithe form rippling with surefooted prowess. He left criminals broken and caught the eye of swooning civilians as he disappeared as quickly as he’d come, with a signature wink and two fingered salute.
However, the vigilante disappeared by morning. It’s as if the early dawn made him disappear like smoke in the wind.
That’s because, while Dick Grayson protects the night, he reserves his mornings for you.
So, that’s why a dip in the mattress at three in the morning is not something that incites panic.
It’s routine.
You wake to the sound of creaking bedsprings. The sheets rustle and shift as your boyfriend joins the cocoon of warmth provided by your body heat. You huff, displeased with being awoken so early in the morning.
Your senses come back to you one by one, sluggish and dazed. Faintly, you register rain pattering the windows of your apartment. Blüdhaven’s deluge has returned tonight.
You let your eyes flicker open, half-lidded with lingering sleep. The streetlights blur in the droplets of rainwater that stall before sliding down the glass. It’s quiet out. Most rational people are shut in their homes and even the worst of criminals need to sleep at some point. Your surroundings feel hazy and liminal, like time is holding its breath. Or, maybe it’s your groggy mind adjusting.
Your breath is quickly stolen from your lungs as a heavy mass of boy presses down on your chest. Bulky, shower-warm muscle drapes across your body. You wheeze for a moment and the weight shifts. It becomes slightly easier to breathe.
The sharp jut of a chin hooks over your shoulder. Strong arms slide around your waist, locking tightly. Damp locks of raven hair tickle your cheek, smelling of his shampoo and lingering rain. You bury your face into it and take a covetous inhale. You can feel puffs of his breath on your shoulder, his nose nudging into the crook of your neck.
He’s bare, you quickly notice, all except for his boxers. His skin is heated like it always is after his scalding, after-patrol washes. You hadn’t even heard the water turn on in your ensuite. His body is slotted against yours, seeping into every space between your skin till they’re conquered by him. He’s become your personal weighted blanket. Your hands shift, greedily sliding over the open expanse of his toned back.
Despite your initial irritation at being suddenly awoken, you really don’t mind. Dick was safe in your arms. He’s returned from Blüdhaven’s maw to be yours and yours alone in this stolen moment between the witching hour and dawn.
“Sorry,” His voice is a deep rumble, you can feel the vibrations in your own ribs. He pushes his lips against the skin of your throat. The affection is easily given. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
You hum, not entirely believing.
“S’okay.” Your voice is groggy, words muffled into his hair. You let your heavy eyelids slip shut again. “Like knowing you’re safe.”
He makes a noise of acknowledgement. He continues to press small kisses along where he can reach with his head buried in your shoulder. You sigh, the noise a tad dreamy, as you turn your head. His lips skim up to the underside of your jaw.
“You hurt?” You murmur. It was the one thing on your mind from the moment Dick left and remained until his return. You know he’s been doing this since his adolescence; the crime fighting, the vigilante justice, the unforgiving nights. There have been past instances when he’s come back with bruises the size of dinner plates and gashes that have ruined many a bath mat. You were always there to mend him. He once told you, while his blood was pooling between your fingers from a nasty stab wound, that your hands were the only ones capable of holding him together.
You gently nudge him, reminding him to focus on your question. He was distracted, lazily mouthing at your pulse point. The feeling brings a low heat roiling in your tummy, but you’re tired enough to ignore it till tomorrow morning.
“No,” Dick assures. “It was pretty quiet tonight. Just stopped a couple amateur muggers and tailed something harmless on the last Blockbuster case.”
“Good.” You can never hide the relief in your voice. You press a kiss to his hair before resting your head against his own. “M’glad you’re okay.”
Your hands at his back begin to rub his shoulders, trying to soothe the lingering aches you know come with nights (mornings?) like these. There were always less glorious wounds that followed Dick around in his everyday life; the overextended arms, the sore legs, the occasional pulled muscle, and shoulders straining under the weight of supporting the city. You always made sure to soothe in any way you can.
He groans, the sound mostly in his throat. He presses even more into your touch. Inadvertently, his shifting becomes uncomfortable on your lower half. You part your thighs so he can rest more comfortably, his hips cradled between your legs. Dick’s breath catches and oh-
You nearly choke on your own spit as you feel the outline of his, what feels like it might be painfully hard, erection. You’re surprised you hadn’t noticed it earlier.
And Dick whines, actually whines. It’s a pathetic noise muffled into your throat.
“Sorry,” He gasps out. He sounds so defeated. But even as he says it, he grinds his hips against you. The feeling of him, hard and wanting, pressing against you just right makes your stomach pool with heat. “Sorry, sorry… I tried to make it go away. It won’t. Fuck, baby… couldn’t get you out of my head all night. M’sorry.”
“It’s okay.” The words come out as more of a gasp. Your body, though still lethargic, is rapidly warming to him. You cant your pelvis, as best as you can with his weight pressing you down, against his. A muffled moan leaves you as his arousal presses just right against the flimsy cotton of your underwear.
“I just…” Dick’s words are clipped. His thoughts don’t even seem to be fully formed. “Came home already so worked up. God, don’t know what’s wrong with me. Couldn’t even… fuck-” He’s shifted his hips, rubbing his clothed cock between your thighs just right. When he speaks again, his voice is shot. “Couldn’t even get myself off in the shower. You were lying right here, all sleepy and pretty.. And just in my shirt and these…”
One of his hands shifts from your waist, skimming down to your hip. He thumbs at the material of your panties. It’s a plain pair, really. But, to Dick, the sight of you in anything (but especially in his clothes) was enough.
You arch against him, keening low in your throat. Time feels lovely and slow. Every grind of his hips, the feeling of him pressing against the ever-dampening fabric against your cunt, every heavy breath brushing against your shoulder, and every pretty noise he makes drags sweetly on.
“God…” You breathe. The feel of him rutting against you like this shouldn’t be as good as it is. Arousal pools in you, honey sweet and just as thick. “Keep going.”
You encourage him by lazily matching his inconsistent rhythm with squeezes of your thighs against his hips and grinding your pelvis against his own.
His reaction is instant.
Dick’s hips stutter for only a moment before rolling against you with renewed vigor. His hand slides to your thigh, hitching it over his hip so he can grind deeper against you. The other slides up the sheets, fisting into the pillow by your head.
He’s making a mess of you. His lips are attached to your neck; laving his tongue, nipping to bruise, soothing it with kisses, and murmuring words of praise between.
Your eyes flutter shut from the swirling pleasure in your stomach. Your underwear is completely stuck to you now, even wetting the front of Dick’s boxers. Your plush lips part, letting out a soft breathy whine with every grind of him against you. You press your face into his hair, only able to hold on and try your best to breathe as he takes what he needs. Your hands feel every flex of his back and waist as he curves into you.
You were both growing stuffy. Body heat and the insulated warmth of the comforter had you trapped. Dick’s desperate breaths and kisses left your neck wet with his affections. You could feel a slight perspiration on his brow and the beginning of overall mugginess across your own body. It was oppressive and perfectly suffocating.
He could easily shove his boxers down and pull your soaked panties to the side to press into you. But this isn’t about that. He’s too worked up to stop. And you’re too tired to do much else than just feel the ecstasy of it all.
“Mmm..” Dick sucks a mark into your neck. The sloppy, grinding rhythm you’ve set is becoming even more choppy and staccato. He’s close, you can tell even before he utters the words.
“Baby.” He rasps, lifting his head to meet your eyes.
And, Jesus Christ, is he a sight to behold.
His hair is disheveled, still damp from his shower, and strewn all about his forehead. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, lips parted and swollen from making a mess of your neck. His eyes are what catch your attention the most. They’re half-lidded, his pupils blown out wide and eclipsing his baby blues as he gazes down at you like you're something holy.
You can’t help but reach, cupping his jaw in one hand. He chokes out a desperate noise, pressing his face into your palm. His lips press a tender kiss there. His eyes never stray from your own as he pants into your hand.
Dick says your name, low and whiney.
“M’close.” He whimpers. You can see the embarrassment in his eyes. Dick was nothing if not an attentive lover. He made sure you were satisfied before ever even thinking of his own pleasure. Tonight was an exception, he was just so goddamn desperate for you.
“That’s okay, baby.” Your words are breathless. You let your eyes flutter as his clothed tip brushes over your clit. The friction is delicious. “Ah… Take what you need. Want you to feel good. You’re so good…”
That does it.
Dick mushes his lips against yours in a filthy kiss as he comes. His hips stutter and jerk against you in aborted motions as he effectively ruins his nice black boxers. He’s all-encompassing, overwhelming where his body crushes your own into the mattress. You’d die happily like this, you decide. He grinds slowly against you a couple more times, unable to help it. You murmur encouraging words between the presses of his lips against your own.
He pulls back, panting against your mouth for a moment.
“Thank you.” He utters. He continues to murmur his gratitudes as his lips skim across your jaw, throat, shoulder… He keeps drifting down, down, down. You take a full breath as his weight leaves your chest.
“Dick,” You rasp as he bunches up your t-shirt so he can mouth at your navel. He loves the way your stomach jumps under the touch. “What’re you-?”
“You haven’t come yet.” He states simply. You feel the nip of his teeth at your hipbone as he continues shifting down your body.
“You don’t have to-”
“Shush.” You can feel his warm huff of breath across your skin. As if Dick Grayson would ever leave you wanting.
The rain is still coming down heavily outside. Your shared labored breaths and the rustling of your sheets are the only things that can be heard in the sanctity of your shared bedroom. Dick is lit beautifully between your thighs from the halo of the hazy streetlights.
His broad shoulders nudge your thighs open for him. You can feel his breath fanning across the damp fabric of your underwear. A gasp leaves your lips as he buries his nose against you and breathes you in.
“God,” he groans. “You’re drenched.”
Any rebuttal on your tongue is stolen by the sudden feeling of his tongue laving over your pussy through the cotton. One of your hands flies into his hair, searching to ground yourself, as the other tangles in your sheets. Unbidden, your hips jump against his face.
“You gotta let me taste you, baby. Please.” His voice is so pathetic that it sounds like he might die if he doesn’t have you.
You nod, practically mewling.
“Yes, Dick, please…”
Before you can take another breath, he’s tugging your panties to the side and devouring you. You choke on a breath as you feel his warm tongue licks a broad stripe across you. He laps greedily at your essence, nose digging into your clit. One would think he was eating the best meal of his life with the noises he was making.
You curse, letting your head fall back into the pillows. Your eyes flutter shut as you tug on his hair, earning a muffled whine. You writhe against such intense pleasure. The warmth coalescing in your stomach burns into an inferno. Your thighs squeeze around Dick’s head, hips jumping.
Strong hands dig into the plush of your thighs, holding you still while simultaneously dragging you closer. Dickguides your hips to rock against his face. He wants to drown in you.
The sounds you’re making are borderline pornographic. You keen as he drinks where you leak for him, only to drag his tongue up to suckle on your pearl. He wasn’t even trying to be quiet. The wet slurping made your ears burn. He was a messy eater but, God, it was good.
“Dick,” You whimper,lashes fluttering as you struggle against the onslaught of pleasure. The friction of him rutting against you earlier plus this has you hurtling towards the edge dangerously fast. “S’good… so good. Please.”
The praise has him humming against you. The vibrations against your clit make your hips jerk. Dick knows exactly what the cadence in your voice means. You’re close.
Releasing your thigh, one of his hands finds yours tangled into the sheets. He twines your fingers together. His hand is warm, callused. It’s grounding when he presses them together into the duvet.
His lips part from you for only a moment.
“Look at me,” he implores. “Wanna see you.”
You moan as he works his mouth between your thighs once again. The muscles in your thighs jump and tense, squeezing him closer. You want to tell him that you can’t; you’re too blissed out and sleepy to even move.
But somehow, you find the strength.
When you let your pretty eyes open, you find him already staring up at you. His fringe is in his eyes but your eyes lock. He looks godly, like sex incarnate. And he’s absolutely ruining you.
You’re pretty sure that’s what sends you over the edge. The coil in your stomach snaps. White hot pleasure seems to fill every vein in your body. You groan, sounding almost wounded as your hips buck against his mouth. He lets you ride out your release on his tongue. He doesn’t let a single drop of you go to waste.
Your lungs heave and burn, left searching for air in the aftermath of your orgasm. You feel his thumb brush over your knuckles where your hands are intertwined in the sheets.
He’s still lapping at you, giving you little kitten licks. You whimper with sensitivity. You gently nudge his head away from between your thighs with a little whisper of; “S’too much.”
The sight of him, gloriously debauched with your slick glistening on his swollen mouth and chin, is enough to take your breath away. He grins, eyes half-lidded, before he’s shifting over you again to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue.
You pull back after a moment, wrinkling your nose at the smell.
“Gross, Dick.” You murmur. But you’re still floating, effervescent after the high he’s given you.
Dick only smiles, peppering your face with little kisses despite your complaint. Your boyfriend was nothing if not a bit clingy with his affection. It was something you loved about him.
He pulls back after a final press of his lips against your cheek.
“I’ll go clean us up, yeah?”
In only a few minutes, he’s gotten a warm rag to wipe his face, changed his boxers, and slid your uncomfortably damp panties off to be tossed to the floor.
Now, he rests against you. You both seem to glow in the quiet serenity of satisfaction. It was the kind of quiet intimacy that comes from complete and utter trust. Dick’s face rests against your chest, his body half draped over your own. He lets your heartbeat soothe him, the biological reminder that you were safe.
Everything about the both of you is lazy and pliant. His hand has slipped under your (his) t-shirt to draw little patterns into your side. Your arms are wrapped around his broad shoulders, one hand messing with the soft hair at his nape. He’s so warm where he rests against you, it has you dozing quickly.
He presses a final kiss to where he can reach, his own eyes fluttering closed.
“Love you.” His voice is quiet, hardly there.
But you hear him.
You tug the comforter up a tad more to make sure you’re both comfortably warm and taken care of. You tuck it about his shoulders, leaning down to press a groggy kiss to his head.
“I love you too.”