Chapter Text
This is a bad idea, but it’s also the best idea out of his vast selection of bad ideas. Dick is already tense when he drops down on the roof behind you. Watching carefully as you gracefully spin to face him, standing casually on the landing. You jut out your hip and tilt your head.
“Well hey there pretty bird? To what do I owe the pleasure?” You hop down to walk closer, but keep your distance. He knows that he can’t afford to arrest you right now, but you do not.
“I need a favor.” It takes more effort than he’d like to not cringe. Owing you a favor is likely to end in you stealing something you ordinarily wouldn’t be able to get your hands on.
“Oh, is that so?” You purr, catching on quickly, as you always do. Taking your new-found immunity to get in his space. Your fingers trailing down the front of his suit. He grabs your wrist tightly, unwilling to lose control over the situation.
“Yes. I need you to steal something for me.” Dick bites out the words, holding onto his annoyance with a vice. This is an inconvenience and nothing more. That’s what it has to be. Your face softens slightly, and he wants so badly to hate you for it. Hates the way you observe him.
“Is everything alright, Nightwing?” Your voice is like honey, gentle where he wants it to be teasing and cruel. It almost sounds like you care, and he really hopes you’re trying to manipulate him because that’s a lot better than the alternative.
“Everything is fine.” He dismisses, letting go of your wrist and stepping away, the sly curiosity has returned. “Sionis has a heavily guarded weapons cache and I need a thief that won’t hold onto them.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“Ahhh, well, what’s in it for me?” You purse your lips “What if I go through all this trouble and you just arrest me anyways?” You have a taunting lilt to your voice, a faux concern. You move as you talk, loose black clothing draped over your body like ink. A shadow moving through the light.
“You don’t, but people are going to get hurt and given how much money you give away I’m going to assume you don’t want to see a city block get leveled” He replies flatly, because the real answer is that you know him, but if he says that out loud you’ll never let it go. Given the smile stretching across your face and the laugh chiming in the air, you know what he means anyways.
“Oh, does the pretty bird trust me? A petty thief? My, maybe that’s payment alone” You’re still laughing.
“Fuck off” He scoffs, maintaining his neutral expression despite the heat in his chest.
“Only if you say please” You shoot back quickly. He rolls his eyes, and relaxes a bit. If you were going to say no, you would have been long gone. In the few years he’s known you, he’s never known you to spend any amount of time in a conversation you weren’t interested in. Much to his eternal suffering and inconvenience. He waves you closer, pulling up a screen with his gauntlet.
“Here’s the plan, I’ll create a distraction-” He starts to explain, glad that if nothing else you were an attentive listener. He’s less glad that you saw fit to lean into his side so he felt your warmth and the subsequent loss of it when you stepped away.
“I’ll case the area, and find you when I’m ready.” you say, oddly serious. “Make sure you know more details by the time I do.” You wink at him, and he places a hand on his chest in false offense.
“What, is my preliminary investigation not good enough for you?” He leans in towards you, tugging one of the many strips of fabric on the front of your outfit. “They seem good enough when I’m investigating you, afterall how many times have I caught you?” He says, close to your ear, but far enough that you could easily step away if you wanted to.
“How many times have you missed me entirely? How would you even know?” You follow the movement, hand laying over his as you step back, pulling them along in a ghost of a dance.
“I’m sure I’d hear about it on the news.” He follows you, no longer directly holding on as you hop up on the railing again, with a flair that only comes from acrobatic experience. He follows suit, only one upping you slightly with a flair of his own.
“Not if I’m stealing from someone too rich to notice, which is mostly who I steal from mind you.” You hop from one building to the next, barely even looking as you bend and twist, like gravity can’t touch you. He follows your strange dance, the momentum of it flowing through him.
“Is that so? You should tell me all about it. Preferably into a recorder.” He knows his tone is light and amused, but cannot bring himself to maintain a guarded tone.
“Oh? Looking for evidence on me pretty bird?” You laugh, bounding through the city, voice echoing in the alleyways. “Promise to hold it against me?”
“Only in a court of law, dear thief” His laugh joins hers, and he almost forgets he’s not supposed to enjoy your company. It’s time to end the conversation. “I have to get going” He calls, stopping on one of the rooftops. You stop as well, on the one next to him.
“Tired already? I’d have thought you had more stamina?” There’s a strange undertone to what you’re saying. He refuses to assess it.
“Some of us have jobs, instead of stealing.” Is the only response he offers, a reminder to both of you. He is a hero, and you a thief. Your relationship starts and ends there. He doesn’t acknowledge the flinch, and leaps away before he can discern if it's from surprise or hurt. He doesn’t know what he’d do if it was the latter, so he doesn’t think about it. He really, really doesn’t.
Hopefully you wouldn’t do anything to make him regret this collaboration.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- God Fucking Damnit
This was the first thought through Dick’s mind as he shoved his window open and tumbled into his bed. He rolls onto his back, sliding the curtains shut with one hand and fumbling with his suit using the other. He doesn’t even get it down his arms, just opening it enough to get his hand under the waist of his underwear, finally getting pressure in his aching cock. He lets out a pathetic noise, hips canting up into his palm, turning his head to press his sweaty face against the pillow. He’s already desperate, and has been for hours. Ever since he met with you on the roof he’s been both grateful and deeply resentful of his cup. On one hand, Nightwing wasn’t fighting crime with an obvious hard on. On the other, there was nothing he could do to give himself any relief until his suit was off.
Your name tumbles out of his mouth, along with a few choice insults. He swears he could hear your confused hum. Can picture the cute way you tilt your head like you know exactly what you’re doing, all fake innocence. Controlling the conversation however you please.
“God-” His throat felt like a vice “What the fuck is wrong with you-”
He’d just needed you to help intercept a shipment for Sionis. You agreed more easily than he had expected, and he’d made the mistake of letting his guard down. As such, when you’d tossed him into the wall of a roof entrance on that second meeting he hadn’t been remotely prepared. Of course it had been too much to hope that you would be normal for once.
He wraps his dry glove around himself, grunting at the abrasive texture of it on sensitive skin. He remembers how you’d pinned his wrists, slotting a thigh between his as you greeted him.
“Fu-ck, saying my name like that, you- mhm”
You’d all but purred his name in his ear as you asked for details like you didn’t have the line of your body pressed against him. He’d managed to maintain his composure, if barely. He’d given a cocky smirk, relaying the mission details like your warmth against him wasn’t sending blood south.
He whines as he remembers you whispering in his ear. Oh, aren’t you such a good boy, pretty bird.
“You talk like you own me-” He sighs your name again “then leave me like this.”
Your breath ghosting over his ear, hand squeezing his hip. Then, of course, someone screamed for help. You’d pushed him towards the sound, Go do your job pretty bird, and sent him on his way, touch lingering. The fantasy version of you conjured in his head smiles, saying well all you had to do was ask for help, pretty bird.
Now, Dick knew he had a thing for adrenaline. Normally it wasn’t an issue on the job if he wasn’t so worked up, but if he was worked up then a bit of adrenaline almost guaranteed he’d be staying that way. So, in line with his typical luck, he’d been busy running around Blüdhaven all fucking night, blood pumping, trying not to embarrass himself, especially since you kept casually dropping in to help. Your smooth voice teasing and entirely unhelpful over the coms.
“Teasing me all night.” Shit, is he crying? He feels pathetic, but can’t stop nearly rubbing himself raw, unable to even begin to take his hand off himself. You’re so cute when you’re flustered. So easy for me. He’s decidedly crying. He runs the rough pad of his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, hips stuttering and tears flowing. God if anyone saw him like this- Dick thinks he’d rather die, so why can’t he just calm down? You’re such a sweet, desperate bird. How pathetic. “I’m not- I’m not-” Desperate? That’s a lie. He wishes he could believe he wasn’t pathetic. “I’m not sweet.” He bites out, words breathy, said into the empty, silent room. Great, he’s talking to his fantasy. The shame welling in his chest does absolutely nothing to deter the tight hold he has on himself. Honestly, to his greater shame, it only adds to the warmth in his belly.
All this to say, Dick was long past reasonable thought. He could practically hear your voice in his ear still, as he pictured what you might say, or better might do if you saw him like this. Sounds painful, pretty bird, you should treat yourself better. Only I can break you. With the image of you kneeling over him with a condescending smirk in mind, he struggles against his own suit, trying to gain more room to maneuver, his hand trapped down by the tight outfit. As he manages to shimmy out of it, he reaches his hand up, skating it across a sluggishly bleeding cut on his shoulder to make his glove slicker, shoving his uniform down to his thighs so he can plant his feet and fuck up into his bloody glove. He thinks of the little compliments you’d give him, voice impressed, but still almost mocking. Gorgeous as you sound, you need to quiet yourself, before your neighbors file a complaint. He shoves the fingers of his free hand in his mouth, the taste of leather, blood, and his own precum bursting over his tongue. He almost bites his own damn fingers off. Easy birdie, you’re doing so well. So good for me.
He’s babbling, he knows it, but nothing intelligible, certainly not with his own hand flitting between his throat and his mouth, the pressure feeling divine. ‘Yes, I’m good for you, please, please let me cum, I need to-’ Why is he asking permission? He imagines your clever fingers on him, wondering how you’d kiss. Would you be as domineering as you were in the field? Or would you yield to him? Would those sharp edges soften under his hands? His grip tightens as he imagines it, that smirk dropping as your mouth falls open, soft lips closing around his fingers. Or maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d stick your fingers in his mouth to shut him up, refusing to let him even touch you as you did what you pleased. His hand speeds up, and he swears he can hear you saying his name through the haze of pleasure, fall apart for me, Nightwing, and the sound undoes him, white streaks painting his chest and hand.
He drifts hazily for who knows how long, before he pushes himself up. He looks down at himself, feeling sore and a bit disgusted at the mess. He strips off the rest of his uniform, putting it aside to wash tomorrow morning, using gauze pads from the open med kit on his nightstand to clean himself up, and taking care of the wounds that he-. God he used his own blood to get himself off, and Dick groans as he somehow finds the will to be embarrassed over it. He stumbles to the bathroom, glancing at the debauched man in the mirror before- Fuck
Fuck no- is that? He sees his com in his ear, and hurriedly checks it. It’s definitely on, which is not good. At the very least, your line is dead, so maybe you’d turned it off before you heard anything. Or more likely, and the thought makes him want to curl up and cry, you’d heard him start and turned it off. Worst case you’d listened and heard him say your name and- had that been your actual voice? Dick really couldn’t be sure. So as he got into the shower he decided to take a page from his family's book and pretend like it never happened, and never acknowledge this again. That and to be twice as paranoid for the next time.
Dick steps into the shower, turning it as hot as it would go, momentarily lamenting that he can’t actually just melt away in embarrassment. He feels sore and bone tired as the water rushes over him, closing his eyes and breathing in the steam. He tries very hard not to think about it, but can’t help himself. Shame wells up in his chest, a familiar feeling, as he pictures you listening. Had you been out in the city or already home? He leans against the wall, water stinging at the abrasions on his skin, pain and embarrassment sending arousal down his spine. He bites his lip, muttering to himself. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
He washes his hair, and his body, ignoring his half hard dick as he does. He’s better than that, really he is. Except what if you’d listened to the whole thing? He’d said your name pretty early on, which may as well have been an invitation. You’d always been flirtatious with him. He’d never exactly dissuaded that behavior either. He barely knew anything beyond your name, but the way you flew was addicting. You had done some sort of gymnastics or performing in the past, showing off almost as much as he did. Giving him an excuse to lean into those skills. He wondered what it would be like to fly with you, instead of next to you. Your arms in his, strong grip on his forearms, trusting him-
He has to stop. The thought of you trusting him, giving in to him in any way made him hard again. He swore, he really was absolutely ruined at this point. It was hard to imagine you yielding though, more likely you’d let him think he was in charge, only to flip him on his back and tell him to behave. His other palm slams against the wall, to stop it from drifting towards his-
You would be gentle, but uncompromising. You never swayed in your thoughts. It’s why he’d had to give up on redeeming you. You wouldn’t stop doing what you wanted, and he couldn’t accept it. Even if the thought of you stealing barely even bothers him anymore, and really he’d worked with much worse people. Is actively friends with people who’ve committed far worse crimes.
Dating is different though. He’d eventually, or he’d want to, bring you into his home. He knows himself, he knows he wouldn’t just be able to hook up and leave. He’d keep going back to her like the idiot he was, drawn into that eternal spiral. God he’d definitely hurt your feelings the other night. Of course he had, after weaving through the night with her and then leaving like that, it can hardly be a surprise. He doesn’t deserve to be touching himself to the thought of you after that. Nevermind that he’d already done so.
While his embarrassment did absolutely nothing to deter him, guilt was a more powerful foe. It beat him easily, as he turned the water off, towling himself dry more aggressively than necessary. He’d tried to put her in her place, labeling her a thief. Labeling her as lesser in an effort to create distance and the worst part is he didn’t even have the decency to maintain that distance. He gave into her every time she approached him, and then hurt her with a cold goodbye soon after.
Dick pulls on soft clothing, stripping his bed, unable to run from his own thoughts. He likes her, a lot more than he has any right to. Certainly more than he wants to. She's frustrating, taunting, always out of reach right until he needs someone to be nearby. He wishes he was more like batman for once. Batman saw the crime, the criminal. Was able to arrest Selina plenty of times. Nightwing always saw the person, whether he wanted to or not. He’d never caught his thief successfully and probably never would at this point. He wishes they had met differently. That he had arrested her that night, but instead, he had been helped. He makes a clean bed, curling in on himself under a soft blanket. He wishes she was next to him. He wishes she would hold him, and absolve his guilt. --------------------------
He dreams of the first time you met. It wasn’t long after Spyral. His family was mad at him and he was just lonely and angry and really not coping well. He was hitting harder, and getting hit more. It was the end of the night and it had started raining- and Dick really despises the rain. He’d slipped, and it wouldn’t have been a big deal because he can catch himself, but your hand caught his. He hadn’t even heard you, and still rarely ever does. You pulled him back up, opening an umbrella over his head. You’d seemed wary, but he hadn’t found out why until later. Your voice was soft, gentle. You’d asked if he was hurt. Asked if he was okay with being touched.
For some reason it was the asking that got to him the most. He’d nodded and you’d pulled him into a gentle hug - how long had it been?- resting your head on top of his. There was no judgment, only a quiet question. “Would you like to talk about it, anything else, or just stay here awhile?”
He just shook his head, carefully wrapping his arms around your waist. You were so soft and warm. You smelled nice, it filled his senses, distracting him from the rain pattering around him. He breathed deeply, relaxing into it. Hating himself a little bit for being like this near a stranger, but he really hadn’t had anyone else offer in way too long. He didn’t even notice that his phone was out of his pocket, before it was pressed against his ear. You had pulled away, pressing the umbrella in one hand, and the phone in his other, pushing it so he could hear Wally’s confused voice. He’d been so startled he hadn’t seen where you’d gone, let alone how you’d even opened his phone to being with, or found it.
Wally had come over. When Dick asked what you had said, apparently you’d only told him to “come take care of your bird. He’s sad.” Which, he didn’t quite know how to feel about. But Wally had brought pizza, and a hug, and didn’t say anything when Dick fell apart in the living room. You had been so kind, and he’d wanted to thank you. None of his gratitude stopped the feeling of betrayal when the next time he saw you, you were stealing. He’d been angry, so angry that he’d pursued you for the better part of the night. He never thanked you, and you never brought it up. Never used it against him, even when he insulted you. He’s grateful he wasn’t able to catch you that night, but he’d gotten close enough to know that you were certainly the same person. Of course you’d thrown him off a roof right after he got that close, which is perhaps fair.
He had been too angry then, to pay close attention to how you moved. Unfortunately he had thought about it extensively after. -------------------------------------------------------------------
Dick didn’t want to care about you. But every time he stopped being angry, every time he needed a hug, or to talk. You somehow ended up standing next to him. Never pushing, but never leaving him alone when he didn’t want to be. You also stayed well out of his way the nights he did want to be alone. The nights where he just wanted to sink into Nightwing, and forget about Dick Grayson.
Why couldn’t you just be a thief?