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Midnighter’s sitting at the sad hotel table, lamplight throwing gold over his bare knotted shoulders, polishing his boots. He’d cleaned them a few hours before- saddle soap and a horse-hair brush, scrubbing the gore out with practiced ease until the suds were white and frothy. Dick had tried not to watch, but frankly it was more interesting than whatever Russia has that passes for HGTV. He’s drawing Dick’s eye again, back bowed slightly as his hands work.
The worst part, Dick thinks, is that he’s not bad-looking. There’s nothing poetic in his features, certainly, but Dick can be convinced of almost anyone’s attractiveness. In profile his face is sharp, the sides of his skull shorn near-bare, and the knotted muscle of his neck and shoulders shift like living topography as he works. Brown-red stubble at his jaw, the chapped skin of his mouth. Heavy hands, hairy knuckles. Someone built to work, built like a bruise, moving with something approaching gentleness. There’s always been something in Dick that draws towards things that could hurt him. That desire to bite the cherry red coils of a stove, the reflex to grab for a falling knife.
Midnighter looks over at him, catching his gaze before Dick can look away. “What,” he asks. “Never polished your boots before?”
“Not really.” Nightwing doesn’t really wear boots. Most of his friends lose or ruin theirs often enough that cleaning and polishing hasn’t ever been a problem. “I grew up at first without… things that deserved TLC,” Dick continues, by way of explanation. Salvation army shoes and jackets, ripped dresses and sun bleached shirts, being taught how to handwash with a hose, bucket, and board when they were too far away from laundromats, stains on everything but the Flying Grayson silks. He was hard on his clothes as a kid, he remembers. Nobody could keep him out of the dirt. And then… Dick’s mouth twists wryly. “And then I grew up expensive.”
“Little rich boy,” Midnighter says, not quite sour about it. “Well. I take care of my things.” He gives Dick a look a little too hot for a conversation ostensibly about boots. It makes Dick’s breath catch. Midnighter hooks an ankle around the other chair, pulls it out. “Come over, then. I’ll teach you.”
Dick does, after a moment of hesitation. It seems like Midnighter is mostly finished. He buffs a clear polish into the leather with a microfiber towel, the little sounds of it soothing and repetitive, scent sharp and clean. He sets it back on the table when he’s done, picks up and polishes the other one. His hands are broad and hairy, fingers thick with short, wide nails, calluses in odd stripes across his palms and thick on his knuckles. He’s holding the boot so delicately. “I use a wax-based polish,” Midnighter says. His voice is still rough, but it’s lost the brash quality that Dick had thought was an integral part of his tone. “It doesn’t have conditioner or a colorant like a cream, but with how much blood I get on these things, it helps them last longer. Waterproofing and all. But it does mean I need to put a conditioner on first, so they don’t crack or dry out. That’s what you were watching earlier. This is sealing everything in.” Dick hums to confirm he’s listening. Midnighter puts that boot back, having worked the polish into every crevice, then picks up a horse-hair brush made of a bright amber wood with salt and pepper bristles. He puts the other boot between his knees, the muscles in his thighs flexing, barely visible through the thick canvas of his pants. “Once it’s sat a few minutes, I go in with this until it shines.”
The sound of the brush consumes the next couple of minutes, hypnotic. Dick finds he’s leaned in, far closer than he’d meant to. He sighs, sits back deliberately- he’s not that into Midnighter. This isn’t even something he’s into in the first place- he’s bored, there’s nothing on TV. This isn’t a come on. The leather’s started to shine like glass. He’s losing the plot of this whole thing again, staring at the shoes, at Midnighter’s hands working it over. He wonders what that brush would feel like against his face, what it would feel like if Midnighter decided to work him over like that instead, to focus all of his scouring attention on him. Midnighter holds it out for him to inspect, the movement breezing the smell of leather over his face.
“Gorgeous,” Dick says, finding he really means it. Midnighter grins at him, expression going lecherous and intent. Maybe Dick is coming on to him, somehow. He manages to keep his eye roll off his face. This would hardly be the weirdest thing he’s done in his life. Midnighter picks up the second boot and Dick settles in to watch again, but Midnighter holds it out to him instead.
“Your turn,” he instructs. “Do a good job.” Or else, he doesn’t say, but Dick feels it in his gut anyways, hot and twisting. Dick does roll his eyes now, but he takes the boot. He will, because he doesn’t know how to do anything less.
He tries to perform at first, to make it a show- clearly Midnighter is getting something out of this, too- but then Midnighter doesn’t even look at him. He just pulls the completed boot on and grabs a tangle of shoelaces from the table and starts doing it up in precise, practiced motions, which is also doing something to Dick. He focuses. Do a good job. It’s just as absorbing when he’s doing the work, soft and supple beneath his hands, the hard ridge of the sole between his knees, leather and polish and wax in his nose. He’s not creating anything, but it still somehow feels like art.
Midnighter is watching him when Dick finally remembers himself and glances up.
“You liked that,” he says, sly and not a question. Dick feels hot. “Good.” Midnighter stretches his foot out, rests it on top of Dick’s thigh. “Put it on.”
Dick swallows. Does as he’s told.
“Laces,” Midnighter says, almost indulgent. “Not too tight.”
“Most men want it tight,” Dick says reflexively.
Midnighter wheezes out a laugh, shoulders shaking. “Put on the fucking shoe, Grayson. Jesus,” he says, looking up at the ceiling like he’s searching for strength, still chuckling. “Stupid fucking line.”
“Just saying,” Dick tells him lightly, laces hissing through the eyelets, not nearly as fast as Midnighter had done them up. He tries an eyelash flutter. He’s going back to work with Spyral soon. He should get back into the chatterbox ditz act. Needs to remember how to run his mouth. “I’ve been complimented on it.” He’s glad he’s more tanned than usual- hopefully it’s hiding how flushed his face feels. One upside to his current job, on the little list he goes through day by day to keep himself from going completely pantaloony- less night work. Seeing the sun. He probably doesn’t even have a vitamin D deficiency anymore.
“Oh, I bet you have,” Midnighter says, clearly amused. Dick does a double knot, conscientious.
“Good?” he asks, hands resting on his ankle. He can’t help but glance down at Midnighter’s lap, and feels gratified to see that he’s not the only one feeling a little keyed up.
“Mm,” Midnighter hums, then works his foot between Dick’s thighs, not far. Pauses with the heel caught in Dick’s tac pants, halfway to where he wants it. His head is tilted to the side, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Waiting for permission.
And he says he’s not a gentleman. Dick bites his lip, spreads his legs.
“When’d you know you were into leather?” Midnighter asks, and his heel presses against Dick’s cock, making him immediately wish he wasn’t wearing his packer. Wants to really feel it, the sharp edges of the rubber tread, the heavy weight.
“Oh, you know. Five minutes ago,” Dick says, feeling a little deranged as he opens his thighs more, rolls his hips up as Midnighter grinds down, both hands gripping his calf tight.
Midnighter’s expression crystalizes into a smile, sharp and cutting. “Oh, you’re fun,” he says, wiggling his foot until Dick’s breath catches. “Terms and conditions? Words I can’t use, things I can’t touch. You’re not the first- y’know- everyone wants it different.”
“Touch anywhere,” Dick says. “Words- I-,” he has to grit his teeth for a second, trying to think of the quickest communication shorthand for a cis gay guy that explains himself, even though he doesn’t want to talk about it with cis people ever, all while he’s feeling like he’s boiling off all his brain cells. “Treat me like a man.” Not great. Close enough.
Midnighter snorts. He works his foot against Dick for a minute, watching him wind himself up. Dick sighs when he pulls away, walks over to the sink and turns the water on. “Take your clothes off,” Midnighter instructs, washing his hands. It’s a bad wish, but Dick hopes he’s not too thorough. He wants to smell the leather on his hands.
“You don’t want to watch?” Dick asks, propping a foot up on the edge of Midnighter’s vacated chair and untying his sneakers.
“There is nothing sexy about that outfit,” Midnighter says. “The process of taking it off won’t magically make it so.”
Dick sighs piteously. “There’s really no salvaging it, huh,” he says, kicking his shoes under the table, out of the way. “The combat Adidas are just not a good look.”
“Whatever happened to a nice black turtleneck?” Midnighter asks. “Don’t spies love those?”
“Of course you’d want it to be black,” Dick says, working off the harness and his belt. “They probably think it’s derivative. Wanted a fresh start.”
“Then do white,” Midnighter says. Dick laughs at the aggravation in his tone. He shuts the water off with his elbow, shakes his hands off. “You look like an ecoterrorist militia reject.”
“In my experience, ecoterrorists wear far less polyester,” Dick says mildly. “Unless they’re braiding plastic bags into togas.” He tosses all his holsters and associated gear under the table with his shoes. Midnighter sits back down in front of him, looking pointedly away. Dick whips his shirt off and tries to throw it into his face- he catches it, of course. Annoying.
“They can’t even spring for cotton?” Midnighter asks, checking the shirt like he’s expecting a SPIES-R-US tag reading 100% POLYESTER, MACHINE WASH WARM. “Cheap cunts.” He looks Dick up and down, finally, a smile catching at the edges of his mouth. Dick feels himself flushing, again. “Pants,” he says. Dick hasn’t waxed in a long while- his stomach is fuzzy as he runs a hand down to the button and fly, toys with the zipper for a moment. The feeling of it is foreign. He wiggles out of the pants and his boxers at the same time to avoid any awkwardness fumbling with the packer harness, bouncing a little more than is perhaps necessary. From the heaviness of Midnighter’s gaze on him, Dick guesses that he likes how it makes the muscles in Dick’s thighs move. He kicks his pants under the table too, holds his breath- this next part is always a gamble. Sometimes they’re fine conceptually, but not with the reality of Dick not having- well, a dick. Dick had stared at Midnighter hard as they’d stripped to go into that stupid spa together, not hiding anything other than the sick sliding feeling in his gut, a punch of fear. Midnighter had looked, did a double take, then nodded, and they moved on like nothing happened. Reflex is still making him close his legs.
Midnighter in the present keeps looking him over, doesn’t flinch or look too long. He does a little gesture that Dick takes to mean open up, and grins like the cheshire cat when Dick spreads his thighs. Dick rubs two fingers over his cock, slides them down to gather the slickness there, brings it back up to circle his cock again. Midnighter shifts forward in his seat, looking hungry.
“Well, aren’t you something,” Midnighter tells him, sounding enormously pleased with his lot in life. Dick kind of hates himself for inspiring that tone in him, then mentally slaps himself. Agent 37 is a people pleaser at heart. “Get over here,” Midnighter orders.
There’s a brief scuffle as Dick tries to climb into Midnighter’s lap, angling for a kiss- Midnighter catches him by the hip and shoulder, manhandles him onto his knees in front of him, pushes him down until his legs splay to either side. The position is rather coquettish- Dick bats his eyelashes, curling his hands together under his chin like he might beg, a little joke for himself. If Midnighter tries to make him beg for anything he’s putting his pants back on and leaving. Midnighter snorts, batting at his hands. “You any good at sucking cock?” he asks.
“Does water flow downhill?” Dick asks, breaking character to roll his eyes. “Condom?”
Midnighter produces a strip of three from the recesses of his coat, still slung over the back of his chair. Dick decides not to be judgemental about that, because he keeps condoms in the Nightwing suit too. 99% of the time all he’s doing with them is dropping them on the heads of drunks getting randy in alleyways like a safe sex fairy godmother, but still. If STI rates ever go down in any of the cities he runs in, he will be claiming it as partially his doing. He pops the corner of one into his mouth with a wink, undoes Midnighter’s belt and pants, ignoring the fine tremor of anticipation in his hands, pushes down his boxer and pulls his cock out without preamble, pauses.
“Decent,” Dick proclaims around the condom, in lieu of pretty or that’s going to be annoying to get in my throat. Midnighter gives him a flat look.
“Thanks,” he says dryly. “Glad it passes muster.”
“You’re welcome!” This is actually a wonderful opportunity for his party trick, Dick decides as he rips open the packet. He holds eye contact as fits the latex to the O of his mouth, and leans forward, drawing attention to the long lines of his neck, the corded muscle there. Midnighter’s thighs twitch a little as Dick uses his lips and tongue to roll the condom down his cock, smothering down his gag reflex as it presses into his soft palate, hot and smooth. Midnighter makes an appreciative noise, and nudges his boot in between Dick’s legs, bumping up against his cunt as Dick pulls back to swirl his tongue around the head. The taste of latex is as strong as it is unfortunate. Dick takes a hand off of Midnighter’s thigh to play with his balls, which is definitely more to distract himself than it is for Midnighter’s enjoyment. He’s lucky he doesn’t have any, frankly- they’re like a built in fidget toy for when the blowjob gets too boring, and if he had 24/7 access he would likely be a problem.
Boredom is a spectre always plaguing him, in the same way that a draft is wont to leak in around a window. His oldest friend, his most unwelcome tagalong, manifesting itself at every moment that he is just not quite busy enough, which his brain will classify as anything from scrolling on his phone to being actively shot at. Boredom drives him to extremes. It makes him crazy, makes him dangerous, and perhaps most of all, it makes him very annoying.
“So, does your computer brain precog you about your sex life too, or is it just fights?” Dick asks, pulling off of Midnighter’s cock, stroking it extremely lazily next to his face.
Midnighter snort-laughs, the hand he’s been resting his chin on coming up to cover his smile. His face is getting a little flushed. “No, it does my sex life. Does most everything, really.”
“What?” Dick asks, appalled. “Shit, that sucks. That must be so annoying. What’s it like in there?” He realizes he’s forgotten to keep jacking Midnighter off in his horror and tightens his grip to make up for it.
“This is not very sexy to me, I hope you understand,” Midnighter complains, like scientific discovery shouldn’t overcome sex in literally every area. “It’s like- hm. Nearest explanation is probably… watching a couple of little TV’s all at once. With a big one in the middle that’s on a couple second delay. It’s just probability math.”
“That sucks!” Dick says again, momentarily transported to a world where he has to experience every conversation however many times over before he can actually respond to it. He would constantly be talking over people. “So you’re just stuck in there watching like, I don’t know, six thousand different scenarios happen over and over before you actually get to experience them?”
“Six thousand? No,” Midnighter says. “It’s only a couple seconds ahead unless I push it out for a fight. Most people can only do maybe three, four different things in a couple seconds, it’s not as variable as people’d like to think. You, however, are annoying.” He reaches out and grabs Dick by the hair, shakes him a little. Dick laughs, sticking his tongue out. “I’ve got to sit through twenty of you, because you have so many thoughts crammed into the fucking piece of shit clown car you call a brain. And it’s worse when you fight me. Make up your goddamn mind.”
“Gee whiz,” Dick says, mostly to watch Midnighter look like he regrets ever kidnapping him in the first place. “I can’t be that bad.”
“Have you actually never been diagnosed?” Midnighter asks, his eyebrows climbing higher up his face when Dick cow-blinks up at him in perfectly obnoxious fatuity. “They’re putting your ass in the field unmedicated?”
“Medication?” Dick asks, his tone aiming for the type of empty-headedness usually associated with heavily drugged sheep. “Sometimes I take melatonin to sleep, does that count?”
“Are you some new kind of torture they’re trying out on their enemies and themselves?” Midnighter demands, tapping on Dick’s forehead, pulling his hand out of reach a split second before Dick goes to bite him, teeth snapping against empty air. “Unbelievable.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Dick snaps, annoyed. He’s forgotten what he’s supposed to be doing again, oops, and should find an immediate subject change. “What other options were there for me to do here? Was I gonna start the oral debate? I bet I was gonna start the oral debate. You’ve eaten pussy, right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer- Midnighter said Dick’s not the first trans person he’s fucked. “What’s easier to give oral to? Cock or cunt? I say pussy, but I know this guy who swears up and down that it’s so fucking difficult. I think he’s got an anxious personality and it makes him weird about sex- don’t tell him I said that, he’ll be pissed.” There’s no way Midnighter will know or be able to find this random civilian who he worked with as a server three years ago, but still. “My opinion means a lot to him apparently. It shouldn’t- I mean, look at me, I'm clearly not making good life choices, who cares what I think about you?”
Midnighter’s put his elbow back on the table, looking down at him with an increasingly unimpressed expression. Dick starts sucking his cock again instead of holding it while he talks like it’s some kind of weird microphone he’s doing stand up into, but there’s only a couple seconds before he remembers something else. “I always feel like I have too many teeth in my mouth when I give blowjobs- and the eye contact is so awkward. My head’s angled down but my eyes have to go up? It’s such a strain, and I feel like I look weird. Like, I’m great at both, everyone says so, but this is about what’s easiest for me, you know?” Midnighter’s starting to go soft, he realizes. Dick puts a little more effort in his stroking, looks up at him with big sad eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, just to be a little shit. There’s something dangerous in Midnighter’s eyes that he wants to fully manifest. “Am I boring you? You have a very flexible twenty-something on his knees in front of you, isn’t that supposed to be a life goal after you hit forty?”
“Keep digging,” Midnighter says, lackadaisical. “I’m sure you’ll hit rock bottom eventually.”
“I mean, this is practically charity, right? Am I not helping you make the most of your twilight years?” Midnighter raises an annoyed eyebrow, like Dick can’t literally see his mouth twitching in suppressed amusement. “Am I just not your type?” Dick asks, coy. “Do I need to go blonde? I look terrible as a-,”
Midnighter moves his hand like a rattlesnake, grabbing his jaw in a crushing grip, Dick moving an arm up to block a fraction of a second too late. The sparkling diamond edge of haha he could really hurt me starts to become a little too real, but then Midnighter pries his jaw open, shoves his middle two fingers his mouth far enough to make him retch, pinning his tongue down painfully, the other fingers digging into his cheeks, thumb under his jaw.
“I think I might be the one boring you,” Midnighter says, then shakes Dick’s head hard. Dick’s too rattled to comprehend the sound that comes out of his throat in response- maybe a whimper, his vision blurred. His hands are wrapped around Midnighter’s forearm, though he doesn’t remember putting them there. He tries to suck Midnighter’s fingers in apology, but it’s difficult with the way he’s holding his jaw half-open. His hand does still smell like leather and polish, Dick realizes, and sucks a breath in deep. Midnighter shoves his boot up between Dick’s legs again- he’d forgotten it was there, bites down reflexively at the sudden pressure. Midnighter doesn’t even blink. “I would love to fucking gag you,” Midnighter says thoughtfully, like this is a particularly interesting puzzle, figuring out just what the hell he’s going to do with Dick. He shoves his fingers in again, pointed, actively trying to make Dick choke. His thighs tighten around the boot between them, the leather smooth and cool against his cock. “But the whole point of having a ‘very flexible twenty-something’ between my legs is that he’s doing something, and you won’t shut the fuck up long enough to do any work. I want you to suck my cock properly, and I don’t carry a spider around in my pockets.”
Dick tries to say; “You keep a full leather care kit on you but no gags?” but it comes out a gargle of vowels, mushy syllables and spit.
“God, you’re still talking?” Midnighter asks, incredulous. “You’re fucking relentless.” Dick tries to pull his hand out and his own head back, but Midnighter just grips tighter. Saliva is flooding his mouth- he can’t swallow it with the way Midnighter has his tongue pinned. He tries to crack that it’s a part of his natural charm, gets out two mangled sounds before Midnighter shakes his head again. Dick’s whole brain feels cross-eyed, nothing quite tracking right. Midnighter pushes his boot up between Dick’s legs, slides it back until Dick’s cock rubs painfully against the rough laces and he tries to jolt away. His nails dig into Midnighter’s forearm. “You’re gonna stop running your mouth one way or another,” Midnighter tells him, quite calm, then dislodges Dick’s grip and twists his hand so that his fingers are lodged sideways between Dick’s molars, pulling his cheek back like a hook. He brings Dick’s head into his lap, feeds his cock back into his mouth- he’s hard again, Dick notes- and plants his other hand on the back of Dick’s head.
“Start paying attention,” he growls, bent low with his mouth close to Dick’s ear- all Dick can see is his stomach, his unzipped pants, Dick’s own hands pressed around the base of Midnighter’s cock, wiry brown hair poking through the gaps in his fingers. He can’t get his lips to make a seal with the way Midnighter holding his mouth open. “You keep telling me about all these compliments you get. I’ve not seen the reason for them.” Midnighter lifts his toe off the ground, pressing into where Dick’s starting to feel slick and hot, makes him exhale sharp though his nose. “Get to work.”
Dick does. He still hates the taste of latex, but it becomes easier to ignore with Midnighter’s hand right there, making this a challenge. He doesn’t bother with eye contact even when Midnighter sits back again, is extra mindful about his teeth. Can’t suck, swallows messily as much as he can, drooling on his own hands, stroking what’s not in his mouth and over Midnighter’s balls, rubbing his tongue along the underside and around the head. The grind of his cock against Midnighter’s boot is becoming more of a slide, he’s having to fight not to clench his jaw at the way it’s sparking up his spine. He’s not getting anywhere like this. Can he deepthroat? It’s been a while. He’ll have to get a good angle.
Dick shuffles his hips backwards to bring himself lower, lower, gratified when Midnighter gets what he’s going for and rearranges himself as well, everything clicking into place. The angle is better for him to rub on, and he loses himself in it for a few moments, gasping wetly around the cock in his mouth. He clues back in as Midnighter sighs at him, has just enough time to think oh shit before the hand on the back of his neck tightens like a snare and shoves him in.
Midnighter’s cock hits the back of his throat, burying his nose in his pubes. Dick chokes, gags, makes a couple unattractive noises he can’t muffle at all with his cheek pulled open- Midnighter seems to like the sound of that, fingers twitching into his scalp. Dick can’t do anything but sit there and be still as he feels his eyes tear up, a bubble of spit popping between his stretched mouth and Midnighter’s fingers when he tries to breathe on reflex. He’s so hard it hurts. Midnighter lets go, Dick pulls just enough to back to cough and sputter for a moment, put his head on right.
There’s always been something in him that wants to go a little further than everyone else. Be better. Be the best. It’s not quite perfectionism, though he has that in spades. He just wants to see how much he can do, how many petty limits he can blow past like they're nothing but leaves in a hurricane. He’s got his split- can he get an oversplit? How far can he push it? He can juggle- can he juggle upside down? Can he juggle knives? How many? Can he dodge projectiles? Arrows? Bullets? From how many shooters? Dick’s always looking for something, a feeling beyond feeling, where the world gets swallowed by accomplishment and he’s feeling nothing but a burn in his muscles and a buzz in his brain better than any drug could ever provide. He has to be the best anyone's ever seen. He needs that moment where people say: huh, say: impressive, say: what else can you do?
He can do it all.
It’s not about sex, but whatever it is did get applied broad-spectrum. Kory was the one to teach him this, years ago now, that sex was something that could go beyond having fun and feeling good. He likes it when it’s regular too- her hands in his, laughing against her lips, fingertips digging into his back and her forehead against his shoulder, her hair getting in his mouth. But he’d learned that sex could be its own version of an extreme sport, a highwire walk, the best kind of freefall.
Coincidentally, she also taught him how to take it when she wanted to fuck his mouth. Dick takes a deep breath, pushes himself back in. It’s a dance in and of itself, holding his breath and holding himself down. He compresses the vague nausea he always gets down into a pinprick, packs it away on a mental shelf: he’s busy. Ignores the ache in his jaw, pays attention to the ache between his legs. This is different and new, his mouth held open by a hand, drool dripping down his chin and neck. Rutting on someone's shoe like a desperate bitch. He thinks he likes it. Likes it more when Midnighter’s stomach starts to twitch under his fingers, his breath getting loud enough to hear over the wet sounds of his own throat. Midnighter swears quietly, trailing his free hand over Dick’s stretched cheek until Dick snaps and puts it back on his head. Midnighter gets the message.
Dick whines at the next jerk of his head, throwing him out of his rhythm. “Fuck,” Midnighter curses, grinding the toe of his boot up against Dick. He shudders, chokes, grinds his hips down, down and then suddenly Midnighter is yanking him off, ripping his hand out of his mouth. Dick gasps in air for a second, trying to blink tears out of his eyes, and then Midnighter is wrapping both hands around the back of his skull and setting a pace Dick can barely keep up with.
It doesn’t take Dick long after that. Midnighter grabs his hair up top after a minute or so of rough thrusts, pushes him down as far as Dick can take before shaking his head again, like Dick doesn’t have a cock stuffed down his throat, and Dick comes with a sound like a kicked dog, muffled, knees snapping shut around the boot between his legs.
Midnighter pulls him back by the hair, none too gentle, withdraws his foot. Dick works his jaw, wincing slightly when it pops, still feeling shuddery.
“You didn't-,” he starts, voice thick, cutting himself off with a cough when Midnighter tightens his grip. He leans in close, his sharp face flushed.
“You,” he says, sounding out of breath, “made a mess.” He swipes his hand under Dick’s chin, smears sticky saliva across Dick’s entire face, rough enough to make him gasp, before shoving his head towards his boots, one wet and glossy. “Clean it up.”
Dick feels too out of his head to really consider protesting, to remind him of all the gore that’s touched that leather- he can hear Midnighter’s response anyways. A grip on the nape of his neck, a shake, maybe a slap- are you trying to tell me I don’t take care of my shit, Grayson? He lets Midnighter push his head down and opens his mouth. Licks his own slick from the leather.
“Good,” Midnighter says. His voice sounds shaky. “Good.”
It brings him back to himself, focusing on nothing but the taste of himself and boot polish, the soft drag of the texture on his tongue, finding the hidden nicks and scrapes in the vamp. When he pops back up, grinning and wiping his mouth on his wrist, Midnighter looks a little fucked out. Dick gets up further, worming his way between his legs and finally getting to put his hands on Midnighter’s chest.
“Well?” he asks, arching an eyebrow. Midnighter puts a hand over Dick’s face as if to cover up his smile, then yanks it back when Dick immediately licks his palm in a way that’s distinctly unsexy.
“God, what are you, the energizer bunny?” Midnighter asks, and nobody’s ever managed to sound put-upon while looking seconds away from coming but he sure gives it his best shot. Dick tweaks his nipples, which are offensively pink. He gasps. “Fuck off.”
Dick laughs, fighting the urge to squeeze his pecs with a little honk honk sound effect. Midnighter might actually backhand him, boner or no. It’s not Dick’s fault his tits are cartoonishly huge. “Do you want me to finish you off?” he asks, saccharine, then looks down to where their hips are flush against each other, which would be the perfect angle to- “Fuck, I wish I had a strap.”
Midnighter goes on a short but dramatic face journey, which does not end up arriving at any place Dick would like it to. “You are certainly not fucking me.”
“You don’t bottom?” Dick asks, hands fluttering over Midnighter’s waist, struggling not to grab and hold him like that. He’d like to throw Midnighter’s legs over his shoulders, bend him in half. “You'd look good doing it.” Most men do, frankly. It’s definitely Dick’s own truck-sized ego that makes him like giving it to them so much, but whatever, it’s still true.
Midnighter snorts. “Sure. But not for you.”
“Rude,” Dick says without any heat. “What, do you think I couldn’t throw you around? I could.” He has, demonstrably. “I’ve rocked your shit.”
“Barely,” Midnighter deadpans. “Who kidnapped who again?”
“Who had to use teleportation to do it?” Dick asks, unimpressed. He also pretty much let him- a break from Spyral is a break from Spyral. He jiggles Midnighter’s chest, presses his pecs together. Midnighter rolls his eyes at him. “They’re just so perky!” Dick says, defending himself. “Silicone or saline?”
“I’m shocked you ever convince anyone to have sex with you,” Midnighter drolls.
“And yet here you are,” Dick tells him cheerfully, ghosting his fingertips up the underside of Midnighter’s cock and smiling when his breath stutters. He presses his hips further up and in, lets himself imagine for a moment what could be. “I’d fight you for it,” he says, knowing he’s about to open a very fun can of worms. “If I had mine with me.”
“Would you now,” Midnighter says. His voice is drifting colder, the air between them sparking with electricity. Dick raises his eyebrows.
“What?” he says, leaning back just enough to get his feet under him. Midnighter grins, slips his underwear back over his cock. Smart. Dick would hate having something flopping about when he fights, for the same reason that he dropped the cape: it seems like someone would up and grab it. Bad enough when it’s your costume. Horrifying to think about it being your penis. “Scared you’ll lose?”
Midnighter lunges. Dick dodges, lets him slam into his shoulder and flips him with his momentum, the chair crashing over behind them.
Dick’s not built for close quarters hand-to-hand combat. He’s excellent at it, of course, but he’s not made for it. Not like Midnighter is- a bruiser, a brawler, a fucking tank who trying to grapple with is like landing 500 pounds of pissed off tuna with his bare hands. Dick ducks, dodges, outlasts people into exhaustion, and generally tries not to fight in small, enclosed spaces like hotel rooms. Midnighter reverses his flip and Dick has to scramble to keep his footing, both of them trading and blocking jabs in turn. It’s lighting Dick up inside, like he’s living in his body again when Midnighter deflects his kick and lands a stinging hit on his ribs. Like he’s been sleepwalking for far too long.
He laughs. He can’t quite help it. Midnighter winces as Dick kicks him in the thigh and grabs his ankle on the withdraw, pulling him into a drop. “You fucking freak,” he says, not without some affection, as Dick’s back hits the floor. Dick hooks his free foot around Midnighter’s knee and drops him too, locks his leg around Midnighter’s neck and cinches down an arm with the other one. You shouldn’t try to grapple with people who are this much bigger than you, Dick knows, but it’s fine, he can do it, he just has to really crank down on this chokehold-
Midnighter grabs for his face, grunting, and Dick bites him, trusting that Midnighter won’t knock his teeth out. Midnighter’s started laughing too, strained through the pressure Dick’s exerting on his throat. “Who’s the freak now?” Dick grits out, and Midnighter socks him hard in the hip with his free hand, loosening the leg Dick’s holding his other arm with as it spasms. Midnighter twists sharply in the hold, forcing Dick to release him or dislocate his hip. There’s a moment of confusion with limbs and movement- Dick catches him hard across the face with the heel of his palm before Midnighter manages to trap both of Dick’s arms under his shins, legs splayed across his chest. Dick arches up at the hips to try and dislodge him and he grabs one leg, hauling it forward over his shoulder and planting his other hand solidly over Dick’s cock, palm pressing down. The fight stops with a shudder.
Objectively, Dick knows he could still break this. Pull his leg forward more, kick Midnighter in the trachea. He doesn’t move. Midnighter grins down at him, giving his cunt a friendly rub, growing toothier as Dick starts to pant.
“Do you feel better now?” Midnighter asks, obnoxious. “Done making a production?”
“You piss me off,” Dick says, “so much.”
“So no, then.”
“I mean it,” Dick tells him, shifting, not quite sure he wants to get free. “I can’t stand you, this fucking- nasty-ass attitude of yours-,” Midnighter gives him something of a that’s fair nod, his face creasing up into a smugly amused smile. “And your stupid knock-off gimpsuit-,”
“Oh, it's a knock-off, is it?” Midnighter asks, mocking. “What’s it a knock-off of? Why does that piss you off specifically-?”
“Do not,” Dick grits out as Midnighter rolls his cock under his thumb, “if you want to continue getting laid-,”
“Me? Me? You brought him up-,”
Dick jerks his leg to the side and knees him in the neck, cutting him off. “You think you know everything! Shut up, for the love of god, you talk too fucking much-” Midnighter cackles in his face, tightening his grip on Dick’s leg right as Dick thinks about kneeing him again. “You leave all your bloody messes for other people to clean up, you’re irresponsible, the problems don't actually go away once you've punched ‘em real good and bailed, just so you know-,” Midnighter pinches his cock. Dick will deny to the end of his days that what comes out of his mouth is a squeal.
“You’re almost cute,” Midnighter says, giving him the same pout you give the least adoptable pomeranian at the pound. “You’re like a little dog, yapping at me-,”
Dick does his best to make an error noise, difficult with how he’s trying to keep himself from moaning. “Not into that one,” he informs Midnighter quickly, because he’s driven down that road many times before and it doesn’t lead anywhere he’s wished it would.
“Damn. What a crying shame that is,” Midnighter says with a prodigious sigh. “You done yelling at me now? Never in my life have I met anyone this mad they want me to bend them over-,”
“God, fuck you! I do not fucking like you!” Dick hisses, shifting and tensing as Midnighter’s focus starts to shift, touching him with intent and not just to tease. He’s struggling to find words, he could have sworn he had more of them. “Fuck! Shit!”
“You’re done now,” Midnighter says, sounding very sure of himself.
“I’m never done,” Dick promises, and Midnighter rolls his eyes, forcefully enough to roll his head with it.
“Brats,” he says in a philosophic drawl. “You just like the sound of your own voices, is what I think. You’d prattle on all goddamn day if I’d let you.”
“But now who’s talking?” Dick snipes back, and then gasps sharply when Midnighter presses a finger into him.
“But that’s all you are, huh? Only talk.” Midnighter slips a second finger beside the first- Dick can feel every one of his callouses, stroking inside of him and searching for what will make him whine and quiver. “Look at me, look at me everybody!” He’s found his rhythm now, relentless, making Dick wriggle in the paradoxical pull-away that always seems to happen to him when something feels a little too good. “I’m so big and important! I’m so smart! I’m so cute!”
“I am,” Dick agrees, sheer willpower alone making him sound very nearly normal. Midnighter pinches his inner thigh hard enough to make him yelp.
“I am speaking,” he says, hand still working. Dick’s eyes are trying to roll back. “Nobody ever taught you how to take turns, looks like. You get whatever you want, whenever you want it, don’t you?” He presses his fingertips into Dick’s g-spot until his legs shake, and when he whines Midnighter reaches forwards to grab his jaw. “Answer me.”
“Yes,” Dick gasps out.
“But that’s not enough for you, is it? You’re never satisfied when people just give it to you, it’s too easy. That’s why you go and find someone who doesn’t just hand it over. Because you want to work, right?” He uses his grip on Dick’s face to make him nod. “You want to be put through your paces. So you hiss and huff and puff yourself up, try to push people around. You do all of these nasty little attention seeking behaviors. You whinge and whine and run your fucking mouth. You play games. You act wild. I’ve got your number, though.” Midnighter lets his jaw go to run his hand up and down Dick’s trembling leg that he’s got hooked over his shoulder. “You can behave. You just need someone to put you in your place. I mean, just listen to you,” Midnighter says, and under Dick’s gasps for breath he can hear himself, wet and loud and- “just two fingers in and you already sound like sloppy fucking seconds.” Dick’s arms jerk as he tries to clap his hands over his mouth, unable to muffle his embarrassing grunt of arousal, and there’s nothing to be done for the way he clenches down on Midnighter’s fingers. Midnighter leers down at him, cheeks flushed red and lecherous. “You liked that, huh?” he asks. “Think you’ll sound like this when I’m fucking you? I hope so. Sounds like it’ll feel real good.” Midnighter rolls his thumb over Dick’s cock, hard circles for barely a moment more before Dick’s throwing his head back against the scratchy carpet and coming, hands clawing at Midnighter’s thighs.
“Now,” Midnighter says once Dick’s done twitching, his breathing heavy. He pushes himself off of Dick and pulls him up from the floor like Dick’s capable of being upright right now, his pulse throbbing between his legs, one still all pins and needles. “Are you ready to play nicely with me?” Dick stares at him slackjawed, frantically slapping buttons at the control center of his brain in the hopes that one of them will turn his cognitive function back on- they aren’t finished yet. Midnighter raises an eyebrow. “I’m happy to crack your head off the floor a couple times if you’re not done pitching a fit-,”
Dick shoves at his chest, knocking him back onto his ass on the carpet, scrambles over to throw his thighs around his hips. Midnighter goes easy, smug in a way that implies that he’s checked ahead and found no real future where Dick delayed this any longer, which is excruciatingly annoying. After a brief shuffle of getting a new condom on, Dick lines them up and sinks down. Midnighter swears, shudders, clutches at his shoulders as Dick sighs and reminds himself to relax, relax. It’s a stretch and a sting, even with the prep. He wants it. He can take it.
“Fuck,” Midnighter says once their hips are flush, forehead pressed into Dick’s collarbone. “Fuck, that’s good.” His voice is quiet, hands tight around Dick’s biceps, and Dick realizes he’s holding his breath. He exhales suddenly, raggedly. It is good, thick and blood-hot inside him, and it’s been so long since he’s taken anything other than his own fingers that he can’t help but drop his head onto Midnighter’s shoulder too, a whine half strangled in his throat. They clutch at each other for a moment before Dick lifts his hips.
There’s an off-kilter moment as he tries to find the rhythm, his thighs trembling at the drag inside of him- and then Midnighter tilts his hips, the head of his cock at a perfect, terrible angle, and they’re off to the races. Like riding a bike, Dick has the presence of mind to think, delirious, as Midnighter grabs at him, his hands clutching at Dick’s neck and ribs and thighs. Dick drops his hips a little too hard, and there’s a bright sunburst of pain in his core as Midnighter’s cock punches up against his cervix. The muscles in his stomach cramp up, and he makes a high, hurt sound as Midnighter’s hands squeeze on his hips, thumbs pressing in at the place where his thighs meet his groin.
Dick scrapes his teeth against Midnighter’s jugular, scruff scratching at his lips and chin. He tries to keep his rhythm, relying on muscle memory to work his pelvis in tight little circles, rolling his hips, but something about the sound of it- wet, and getting wetter- is making him want to squirm. Midnighter’s humid breath against his ear isn’t helping. He leans back, watching Dick’s hips move for a moment. “See, was that so hard?” he asks, gratifyingly breathless.
“Feels- ah- pretty hard to me!” Dick chirps.
The sound registers before the slap itself does, understanding dawning with heat on his face. Anger surges up to replace it. Dick slaps him back.
Too late, as his hand connects with all of his force behind it, he realizes that Midnighter had been fondly amused, and absolutely pulled that hit.
Midnighter gawps at him for a moment. “You hit me,” he says, sounding more shocked than scandalized or hurt.
“Oops?” Dick tries, his face heating up. His hips have stopped moving, but he can still feel the muscles inside squeezing down. Midnighter visibly resets himself.
“Excuse me,” he says, tight and cold, and then the world blurs. Midnighter hauls him off, a fist in his hair driving him forward onto his knees, catching himself on the wall an instant before he takes a header into the floor. Midnighter pushes his face into the plaster, grinds his cheekbone into it- there’s the clink of a belt buckle, the whisper of leather on fabric. His belt, body warm, comes to rest on Dick’s ass.
Dick swallows uselessly, his mouth gone dry. His scalp prickles all over, his own slick dripping cool onto his thighs, clenching tight around nothing. Seconds tick on, silent but for their own sharp and anticipatory breaths. Dick nods.
The first strike is electric. He can’t help the way his hips judder forward, trying to escape, like 30,000 volts waking him up and then putting him right back down. The second one snaps across his skin like liquid fire, a high, shocked sound slipping through his teeth. No testing, no love taps, no working up to it- it figures Midnighter would know exactly how to hit him. Midnighter laughs at him, rumbling in his chest like thunder and incredibly amused as Dick jumps and startles and fights to stay still, grits his teeth against the pain. He can hear the smile on Midnighter’s face, and Dick’s starting to lose control of his breath, panting through his mouth, shallow and stuttering. It’s been too long since someone’s been so delighted to lay into him, flickering the belt across his skin in teasing little flashes and then deep, heavy strokes, thudding into the muscle.
He forgot that he needed it.
The belt cracks against him again. Dick’s somewhere else. Just his nerve endings firing, all other signals fading out one by one by one. Leather, a hot stripe across the backs of his thighs. Sweat in his eyes, dripping down his neck. Nothing screaming for his attention but pain. Midnighter hits him vertically, fire down his right leg. His fingers claw at the wall on their own accord. Nothing to do but this. Time rushing by him like water, indeterminable and muddy like a brook. Snap of leather on leather on skin, again, again, again.
Dick gasps wetly against the plaster, something like a sob. A hand fists in his hair once more, tingling down his scalp and across his face as he’s pulled back, up, pressed into Midnighter’s chest. Stubble scrapes the shell of his ear, a wash of warmth as he talks.
“You gonna be good now?” Midnighter asks- there’s teeth to it, a bite waiting to happen. Dick nods just to feel the faint pop-pop of hairs ripping out- his mouth is making noises, not intelligible. “Huh?” Midnighter shakes him again- everything feels loose, like he might fall out of himself. “You gonna be a good boy for me?” Dick twists his head to try and kiss him, but Midnighter holds him firm.
“Yes,” Dick manages, more breath than word. “I’ll be good. I’ll be- I’ll-,” Midnighter sinks his teeth into the join of his shoulder and neck, and he squeaks. Midnighter’s laugh rumbles like thunder against his back. “Like that,” Dick gasps mindlessly. “Please, just like that. I’ll be good.”
Midnighter bites him again, further up the neck, a sharp pinch, sucking on his skin, working his way up to just under his ear. Metal clinks and clunks as Midnighter drops the belt to the floor, drags a hand across the raw red heat of Dick’s ass, cool enough to burn. Calluses drag and scrape against his inner thigh, then Midnighter rakes his nails across his skin, catching Dick between the sharp bit of his teeth and those dull points, like lines of white-hot solder laid into his skin. Nowhere to be but here, pinned out like a butterfly.
It’s a mind-melting eternity before Midnighter brings his fingers between Dick’s legs. “Uh,” works its way out through Dick’s teeth, his cunt burning hot, swollen and sensitive. “Ah, ah!” Mindnighter’s hand leaves his hair, and there’s a moment of- shifting, confusion, his pelvis being tilted- and then Midnighter’s cock is pressing inside him, sliding home like a dislocated joint. Relief.
Dick’s not sure what sound he makes. His ears are ringing, throat long gone raw. He’s got the vague sense that it was loud. Midnighter’s free hand is shaking as he grabs at Dick’s waist, his jaw, gripping too tight. The first thrust would have taken Dick’s legs out from under him if Midnighter wasn’t holding him up. He’s scrabbling at Midnighter’s forearm, back is bent in a desperate little arch, trying to get more of it, to get away from it. His chest against Dick’s back is slick with sweat, prickly with hair, everything from his hands to his pace to his skin is rough and fast and hard. The smack of Midnighter’s body against the backs of his abused thighs pushes air out of his chest, his noises guttural and desperate, getting higher and sharper as the tempo builds into something that’s unbearable. Dick chokes a little on his own saliva when he tries to speak. He’s almost there, glimmering in the bowl of his ribs, tantalizingly close.
“Midnighter,” he manages. His eyes feel hot. Midnighter shoves Dick back down onto his hands and knees, carpet scraping at his face, a brutal grip on his hips, pushing himself in deeper, the leverage better, the angle unforgiving, his balls slapping Dick’s cunt hard enough to make him cry out, fingers clawing at the ground. Midnighter makes a desperate sound, hips stuttering, reaches around, fingertips sliding down the crease of Dick’s hip, and-
The sound he makes is shrill enough to be called a scream, even muffled behind his gritted teeth, as Midnighter’s rough fingers start working at him, hot and impossibly sensitive. Relief as a kick to the gut, his thighs trying to squeeze down around Midnighter’s wrist. The orgasm rushes up to meet him like the ground during freefall, tensing and shuddering in Midnighter’s hold as he strokes him through it, too hard, too much. The butterfly-clench of his cunt rips a wounded sound out of Midnighter’s mouth, and his pace becomes frantic, deep and bruising where Dick is still pulsing with aftershocks. His vision is fuzzing over, ears ringing as Midnighter grinds in and stays there, seizing up in full-bodied shivers.
Midnighter pulls out with a quiet, fucked-out noise that makes Dick sigh and drop his hips to the floor. He feels vaguely like a beached jellyfish. He doesn’t move for a minute, listening to the sounds of Midnighter tying off the condom and binning it, zipping his pants back up. He doesn’t bother to open his eyes either, not until Midnighter scoops him up with trembling hands and half-throws him onto the bed. Dick looks down at him, shuffling forwards on his knees and pulling Dick’s thighs apart.
“I don’t-,” Dick gasps out, “I don’t think I can go again.”
“Just cleaning you up,” Midnighter tells him in a cracked voice, red from the face all the way down his chest. His pupils are huge, Dick thinks, gleeful and a little punch-drunk. A muscle tremor goes visibly through Midnighter’s whole body, and Dick has to fight down a fit of laughter. “That alright with you?”
Dick flops his head back against the bed, gestures a lazy go-ahead. If Midnighter wants to go facedown in there for no reward he can knock himself out.
Dick proves himself wrong a few minutes later, clutching a hand over his mouth as Midnighter drags his tongue in rough up-down strokes over his cock. He’s not even muffling noises anymore, just trying to hang on to something. He feels like something in him is shaking apart, can’t control his legs or hips, shifting anxiously into Midnighter’s mouth, heels digging into his spine. He lavishes a kiss onto Dick’s cock, spreads him apart with two fingers and licks in deep, nose pressing hard against his cock- Dick coughs on his exhale, bites his own palm.
“Fuck,” he chokes after a minute of trying figure out how to speak. “Fuck! Fuck you, oh shit-,” a whimper squeezes out of his throat before it locks up again, along with all the muscles in his stomach and thighs, tight as a bowstring. He’s grinding his teeth. Midnighter goes back to his cock, rubs it on his tongue, broad and flat, then sucks-
Dick’s got two fistfuls of his hair, tight enough to hear Midnighter whine, barely audible under the ring in his ears. Dick rocks his hips in one, twice, and comes soundlessly, whole body jerking and thighs clamping down like a snaptrap on Midnighter’s skull.
After what feels like an eternity, his vision comes back from its white-out. Dick sobs for air, having forgotten to breathe entirely. He unlocks his legs, lets go of Midnighter’s hair- his hands are numb, he notes- and Midnighter pulls back and wipes his mouth on Dick’s thigh like a jackass, giving one of his quads a friendly pat. “Could kill somebody with those,” he says pleasantly, sounding like he’s talking to Dick from a mile away. He gets up with a grunt and click of his knees, starts setting the room back to rights, leaving Dick to lay there and tremble limply.
He is definitely not cleaned up. He covers his face with his hands- shaking so badly they almost miss- and oozes off the bed onto his knees to wait for his brain to start functioning again.
Dick… should pee. That’s important. After sex. He doesn’t want another UTI. Spyral medical is a shitshow on the best of days, and it’s never the best of days. He can sit in the bathroom until his higher functions turn back on. That will be less embarrassing than sitting out here. He’s planning again. Things are looking up. He’s so totally got this.
Dick stands up and manages exactly a step and a half before discovering his legs are shaking too bad to hold him, dropping him almost back to his knees, clutching at the bed for stability. Maybe he doesn’t quite got this. Midnighter huffs a quiet laugh.
“Shut up,” Dick grits out. His only consolation is that Midnighter still looks at least half as wrecked as Dick feels, and he’s had a couple minutes to recover. He’s going to keep clinging to that half. “You wish you could come like that three times in a row.”
“You do make it seem fun,” Midnighter says indulgently. “Let me know if you need help getting there.” Dick flips him off, dragging his other trembling hand over his face. He should shower. That’s something to think about. This hotel has cute little soaps on the counter with charming smells like honey and chamomile. He’ll stop smelling like sex, like Midnighter. Like leather. Like saddle soap and polish. The fumes must be making him crazy.
The sting of being well-fucked is more noticeable when he’s standing- shakily, but standing- and downright painful when he sits down on the toilet, the door safely shut and locked between him and Midnighter. He can feel his pulse between his legs, around his wrists, the too-quick beat of it in his ass and thighs, in all the rugburn, in the right side of his face. He thinks that one might bruise. Good thing he’s gotten in fights recently. He can’t imagine how civilians explain this kind of thing away.
He doesn’t even bother standing in the shower, or with anything more than a cursory rinse to make sure he doesn’t glue anything together or become an active biohazard overnight. Exhaustion is hitting him like a brick now that his heart rate is coming down out of the ceiling, and he has to take a minute to rest his head against the sink after he takes some gulps of water direct from the tap.
Midnighter has clearly just finished cleaning his boot again, the one Dick… he can't think about that, actually- screwing the cap on the polish and wiping his hands off on a rag. It’s a strange reflection of what started everything off, enough that Dick has to grit his teeth and walk purposely to his bag of clothes to dig out underwear and a shirt, refusing to acknowledge him, the way he’s still ogling. The door to the bathroom creaks shut. Dick’s hands are still fucking shaking, weak-feeling.
The shower turns on briefly. Dick tries to stretch out his cramped-up calves, prods at the reddened, shiny skin next to his eye socket in the mirror behind the table. At least the kidnapping will look believable. Until they strip him in medical, that is. Dick has to bite down on his tongue to keep the hysterical giggles from bubbling out of him. The belt marks on his ass definitely are not helping his case. He imagines asking Midnighter- hey, can you whip me again? Not in a kink way, I just need it to look less like I went on a sex sabbatical- and the urge to laugh like the fucking Joker gets worse. The shower turns off.
“You didn't kiss me,” Dick says when the door opens, almost close enough to the entrance to be blocking it. Midnighter, unlike Dick, was smart enough to bring his clothes into the bathroom with him. He looks a little softer with wet hair and a thin cotton shirt.
“No,” Midnighter says, watching him still. His mouth curls. “I don’t kiss my things.”
In spite of himself, Dick feels his cunt clench. He has to shut his eyes, take a breath. “Jesus.”
Midnighter laughs, because of course he does. “Twenty-somethings,” he drolls. “Insatiable. If you need something you should use your words. Not like you to have a problem with that.”
“Kiss me,” Dick demands. Midnighter raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Please,” Dick amends, just barely keeping desperation out of his voice, and when that garners no reaction: “Please kiss me?”
He does, cradling Dick’s face in one hand, the other starting a drag from the back of his neck down his back, pushing them together. He keeps it slow, half-ignores Dick’s attempts to deepen the kiss, drags his teeth against Dick’s lower lip, not quite a bite. Something settles in Dick’s chest. It is so fucking annoying that he’s a good kisser. Midnighter backs them up until the back of Dick’s knees are brushing against the bed he’d claimed, then pulls away.
“That was fun,” he says, wrapping his arm more fully around Dicks waist and drawing himself up until he’s nosing along Dick’s hairline, where the damp is definitely more sweat than shower water. “We should do that again sometime.”
“We should not,” Dick says, because he knows what’s good for him even if he consistently chooses to ignore it. His hand is resting on Midnighter’s chest- he can’t help but give his pec a squeeze. Midnighter winks at him, and Dick yanks his hand back like he’s been burned.
“I’m gonna have a smoke,” Midnighter says, turning away to grab his coat, stuff his feet into his shoes. “I’ll be back.”
It takes him all of about five minutes of post-sex fugue state lounging for his brain to activate enough to realize that Midnighter redressed and left the room to smoke instead of going to the balcony. There is a less than zero percent chance of him coming back, leaving Dick with no phone, no easy route back to Spyral, and, more importantly, leaving him with the bill.
He sits bolt upright. “You cunt!”