Do You Bleed?

This was work, and work was serious business, and this had the potential of getting really messy like most things did before (and sometimes after) Nightwing stepped in. But it was hardly the end of the world. Dick had been in this business a long time. He wasn’t about the alarms just yet. This was work, but it didn’t have to be terrible.

“Where was the shard found?” he asked a bit too quickly and he cleared his throat quietly to recenter himself, “I would bet that it is being brought in through the docks, though you have probably already thought of that. Do you know if the weapons are staying in Bludhaven or do they have another destination?”

Then he took an Oreo, like nothing had happened, and raised it towards Kal like he would a glass to toast before dropping the entire thing in his mug of cold milk. Dick would have no trouble fishing it out later, even if it meant getting his hands wet. 

The pride turned into something just shy of horror when Nightwing put his Oreo in his milk. Not just dunking it daintily like M’gaan, but full on releasing it into the depths of the milk. How had he forgotten such sacrilege? The thought made him smile, a thing filled with good humour and sentimentality, and he propped his head into his hand, sharp eyes softening as he looked at Nightwing.

dceu-exchange:

Get ready for the first DCEU Fanworks Exchange!

DCEU Exchange is a fanworks exchange for the DC Extended Universe, meaning at this point in time Man of Steel, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Suicide Squad, and the upcoming Justice League and Wonder Woman movies. This exchange is open to both fanfiction and fanart, to gen fanworks and fanworks focusing on ships. All characters, all ships, all ratings, and all genres are welcome.

The exchange will be run on AO3. You can find the whole schedule and more information on our Dreamwidth community.

Nominations are opening next Monday, August 1st.

She let out an inelegant snort as some humor returned to her face. “Luthor banished him because he couldn’t destroy him. I wager my friend is all right.”

“And what… What of the other knights?” 

“I have no news.” Lois said evenly, and her pulse have nothing away. Clark had no means of discerning how honest she was being but he thought he knew her well enough to trust that. He offered her a quick nod, and meant to offer their leave when she reached out.

He met his partner’s gaze, trying to sort out how far Bruce’s faith reached, before offering him a small nod. “I trusted Arthur, and I still trust his Kaldur. We could still use all your witch’s fire power.”

“You should know,” Lois started abruptly, just as Clark made to leave, and for once, she didn’t sound sure-footed. Lois collected herself and tried again. “Prince Richard is just as much of a victim in all this as his father was. He would never have fallen in with the likes of Luthor. If there is a way to save him…”

It seemed to be as much information that they were to get from her and Bruce turned to leave, the Lady’s voice stopping him as short as Clark. He still didn’t know whether he could trust this woman, but her entreaty for the Prince’s life spoke well of her. He turned back to the other two, frowning, Alfred’s voice ringing in his head to ‘play nice’ with the other children of the village. Should he not reassure her as Clark had done?

“We will do our utmost to ensure the survival of as many as possible, m’lady, the Prince included...” whether it would be accepted or not, he did not know but they needed to act fast, “But we must away to this sorcerer, we must know if he can help us sooner rather than later, the more time we waste the less of a chance we have...”

There were a few more words, much less hostility, more promises and advice, and then they were off to find the sorcerer. As they made their way to Star Lake, Bruce made contingency plans for his contingency plans and he caught himself cursing his lack of wings. They could have been to the lake and back in half the time. On the other hand, selfishly, it meant more time alone with Clark and that was never a bad thing, even if they were under pressure and in a less than ideal situation. 

Thankfully, the sorcerer Emil Hamilton, was very much alive and very much not under Luthor’s thrall. They came away with a few mild burns from Sorcerer Emil’s anger at Bruce’s rather blunt questioning, an enchanted amulet that would help them with the Prince, and a new ally. As the sun set over the mountains, the castle came into view. They would be there in an hour or two and it was both a relief and a burden. 

“If there’s anything you can tell me about the source, I’d really appreciate it.”

This wasn’t, exactly, a mission that needed Kaldur’s intervention. Dick wasn’t in over his head. There weren’t many ways that Atlantean technology could be studied on the surface, but Dick had one or two resources he could tap. But Kaldur would make everything far easier, and more importantly, Dick wanted to work with him again. He trusted Kaldur’s resourcefulness and experience, he trusted him in the field and thought his involvement could cut down Dick’s investigation time significantly.

“The runes are ancient Atlantean and it was never my strength...” Kal’s voice was quiet as he brought the shard closer to examine the markings, “Tula was the one who excelled at languages... depending on if it is Shalakatean or Tuatha De Danannean, it will tell us where they are coming from and perhaps who is responsible.”

Placing the shard on the table, Kal shifted forward, his knee pressing against Nightwing’s thigh, “I can send a message to Garth to bring the best linguist in the school to meet with you, if you wish.” He was careful to keep the proverbial ball in Nightwing’s court, not wanting to overstep a line. He wasn’t even sure there was a line but this was the first time that Nightwing had been back and the first time asking for help since he’d taken his leave and Kaldur didn’t want to push.

His smile gave too much away, made him look like an amateur, but he hadn’t realized he’d been worried until he could relax. It wasn’t that he thought that Kaldur would deny him help out of malice, but Aqualad was the leader of a very hard-pressed group, If he couldn’t help, Dick would understand. Dick already had contingency plans, too well-experienced to put all his eggs in one basket. He just really hoped Kaldur could. 

He took a seat, opening an entire packet of Oreos for them to split, and under the table, his ankle brushed against Kal’s, just once before he pulled away. “Kal, you’re a vision. Knew I could count on you.”

He wanted to tell Kal that he’d already helped.

“Have a look at this.”

Out of his utility belt, he plucked a small, metal box and handed it to Kaldur. Inside was a sliver of a damaged gun, etched with the portion of a familiar class of ruins. Atlantean magic. Not unlike what Black Manta’s men had once used.

His face felt strangely hot when Nightwing called him a vision and Kal took an oreo and stuffed it in his mouth, crunching it down in that very obvious way that he liked to distract himself. It had always made M’gann laugh when he ate his oreos like that whilst she took time to soften her own in milk before nibbling at it like a dainty garra rufa fish and all of them would be in stitches when he and Connor had the pleasantly named ‘gob off’s’ (only Gar would be able to come up with something so apropos), wherein they stuffed as many oreos into their mouths as possible. Kal usually won and the cookie and memories were a decent enough diversion that when Nightwing placed the small artifact on the table, all thoughts of the compliment and his subsequent embarrassment were gone.

He did miss never needing to go grocery shopping though. “Does M’gann still stock extra Oreos? I could use that, and a glass of milk when I tell you what I’m working with.”

The chuckled turned into a full on laugh as he pulled Nightwing close, giving him a side hug as he pushed the door to the kitchens open, “But of course, M’gann never allows the Oreo stock pile to dip under five packages... grab them, I’ll get the milk and we shall talk.” 

Oreos and milk usually accompanied either a difficult talk or silly talk, going from their history, and Kal was certain that Nightwing wasn’t here on a lark. As he got the jug of milk and two glasses, he realized that he was nearly thrumming with anticipation. Did Nightwing have a mission he needed help with? Was it something personal? Kal didn’t think he would come to him with a personal story but it would not do to rule out any possibility at this point.

That all changed when he noticed Kal’s smile. Funny how one thing could make all the difference. This didn’t feel like coming home, not in the same way the Cave had been, and sometimes Dick still regretted what happened to their former base, but this felt pretty damn good, too.

“Can’t say I’ve got any complaints. Present company helps.” He took Kal’s arm, following the old Atlantean greeting without any discomfort and reached to squeeze his shoulder with his other hand, and Dick couldn’t quite keep his eyes from softening behind his domino. There was a reason his lenses were tinted. 

“You’re looking good, Kal,” he murmured, a little too soft, but the Atlantean was a sight for sore eyes, and Dick hadn’t realized how sorely he’d been missed until he could finally drink him in. Back where he belonged. “You still working on something?” 

“Ah, yesterday’s mission logs...” he turned towards the computers but kept his hand on Nightwing’s arm as long as possible, “Preparing for the debriefing. Must be nice not to have those anymore, hm?” he teased lightly, “But it is nothing that cannot wait and I am in need of a break... come with me to the kitchens?” 

When all was said and done, Dick Grayson considered himself lucky. Not many people could walk away from a role they were destined for. Over a decade of his life, he was shaped and trained to take the reigns of the Justice League’s covert operations unit.

He’d become their leader. Now he wasn’t.

Somewhere along the way, he’d lost his closest friends, lost the people who made fighting just a little bit easier. Some more permanently than others. All the training in the world couldn’t have prepared him for that.

The first day back was the hardest. He woke just before dawn, prepared to get out of bed, and realized he didn’t know who to be. Nightwing was easiest, but Nightwing had nowhere to go. Robin was a suit that no longer fit and never would again, and Dick Grayson? Bruce Wayne’s incorrigible heir was living it up on the Swiss Alps. So he went nowhere, spent twelve hours in bed, wondered why he couldn’t cry for a man who had the courage to hang up the spandex and waiting to feel guilty for foregoing his daily routine.

Patrolling helped. Being in the field was like flexing an old muscle. The memories were still there, and Bludhaven was Nightwing’s town. It was a long time since he’d been a solo act. Even then, when the Dynamic Duo had fallen apart, the Team had still needed him. The Team, the League, none of them were gone now, but they weren’t Dick’s anymore. He was a solo act with a footnote, a solo act with a dozen affiliates, and for all that Batman remained a dick (har-har), he was an affiliate, too.

It got easier. One day, thinking about Wally didn’t make his chest ache, and looking Tigress in the eye didn’t shatter what was left of his heart. One day, Nightwing asked Batgirl to put down as an auxiliary member of the Team, and showed up for Conner’s birthday. One day, he was willing to admit that there were worse things in life than not growing up to be the person he thought he would be.

It wasn’t one of those days, when Nightwing made his return to the Watchtower. It was just another day, but it was a day where no one else was around except the man he wanted to talk to. Coming back would be a Statement, and Nightwing didn’t feel like putting on his fancy pants.

(Doing this was a Statement, too, just for a smaller audience, possibly a more important one.)

Kaldur’ahm, better known to the world as Aqualad, was at the control panel when he found him. Nightwing leaned against the wall behind him, caught off-guard an almost overwhelming wave of nostalgia. How long had it been since he’d last seen Kaldur like that? Since before the Light certainly, before Black Manta, before Tula. Before Kaldur had squeezed his shoulder and told him with a solemn voice and bright eyes that Nightwing was ready.

It was about damn time he got whelmed.

It had been a very hard year. 

It didn’t seem to get easier. Everything had changed and Kal had to figure out how to fit back into the group, the group who had only just started understanding that he wasn’t actually a traitor. The group who had been training and going on missions without him for a year. He didn’t think he should be leader, he really, really didn’t want to but one year wasn’t enough for another member to show signs of being able (or willing) to step into the role. 

When Nightwing had stepped down, Kal felt like he was losing more than a team mate. He was, of course, he was losing a confidante, a friend, the one who he had connected with most on the team and it hurt but he couldn’t fault him for wanting more. Needing more. 

He wished more than once that he knew where Nightwing had gone to lay down roots, made sure he wasn’t in over his head with things, making sure he was coping okay. It seemed like he was, every time that he came to the Watchtower it seemed easier, less tense. He’d even gone back on the roster as an auxiliary which was a big step, and unnecessary in Kal’s eyes. If Nightwing wanted to retire, he should have the freedom to do just that. It was only when he came for Connor’s birthday party that Kal understood that though Nightwing wasn’t going to lead, he still had the league in his veins, still wanted, needed, to do his part to help Earth.

At that particular moment, he was going over the previous mission, analyzing the footage so that he could debrief the team properly and get ideas on things they would need to work on in the future. Or he had been, until the computer interrupted his study to announce Nightwing’s arrival through the boom tube.

He smiled wide, dropping his chin for a moment as his heart skipped exactly one beat. Nightwing was here. It had been months since Kal had seen that cocky smirk and he was a bit surprised at how excited he actually was. 

It would be a welcome break from his work but he had just one more minute of footage from Artemis’ vantage point to go over and Nightwing didn’t need an escort from the boom tubes to the control room. With a sigh, Kal looked back up and continued working, focusing on getting things finished and when that familiar voice called out to him, he chuckled and saved his work before turning to smile brightly at the man leaning against the wall.

Later, Shiro would get up and clean them both up, insist on it actually. For now, he was content to float, holding on to his anchor with all the strength he could muster, and if that wasn’t enough, well, he knew Keith would keep him from drifting way.

It was just really nice.

Shiro moaned into his skin, quiet animal noises pressing into his jaw, as he nuzzled against him, revisiting the bruises the peppered Keith’s pale skin, reminding him of all the places Shiro’s teeth had marked him.

When Shiro came, however, it was such a glorious thing that Keith didn’t know how to react. The bite to his shoulder made his vision white out but at the same time Shiro squeezed around his cock and he choked out a grunt of pleasure as he came. His hips pushed forward as hard as he could manage, legs shaking as he spurted thick coils of hot seed into Shiro’s ass. Keith’s strength gave out on him and he pitched forward, unable to hold himself up even a little as he gasped for breath at Shiro’s throat. He couldn’t even speak.

“Feels good,” he whispered into the sheets. Shiro hadn’t taken a glass of anything harder than fizzy water since he started piloting, but now he sounded like he was drunk, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as sweat dripped down his brow. Even now he was preening for his lover, trying to show off everything he had, rolling his hips just enough to make Keith groan. “Feels so good, ‘Kir…”

“Breathe, baby, breathe for me.... there we go..... fuck, you are so fucking amazing....” he let out a breath and wiped sweat from his brow before gently patting Shiro’s flank, “Roll with me, love, let’s see if we can do it without me pulling out...” he grinned as he spoke, guiding Shiro’s hips down to the bed to try and roll him over so they would be facing each other, “Can’t kiss you from here...” 

Shiro gave in, turning obediently, whimpering into his lover’s mouth as he opened into the kiss, stealing the air straight from his lips. He wanted the moment to linger, to remember Keith’s taste, to hide it away, more pressure to him than any metal or stone. Shiro’s thoughts ground to a halt, mouth parting in overwhelming need. His stomach burned as he was stretched open, thighs quivering in his bid to keep still, but he was so full and so hot. There was nothing to do but take, and he wanted it all. 

Then Keith proceeded to break his mind by actually moving.

He groaned like he didn’t care who heard, back arching so deeply it hurt, all to grind against Keith’s crotch, finding all the ways he could be taken. So deep. So tight. He was panting for it, open-mouthed and eager, fingers digging into their sheets, his arms buckling under his weight. His cock hung between his legs, hard and dripping. Shiro felt absolutely filthy, and he loved it.

“Takashi....” he breathed out as he slowly pulled his hips back, fucking into him steadily, as deep as he could go. The tight heat around his length was almost too much. He leaned back a bit when Shiro collapsed to the bed, one hand smoothing along his back to comfort him, “I got you... you’re doing so fucking good... look how you’re taking it, look how good you’re doing... fuck...” 

Shiro could have come like that, sobbing and begging for more, edged beyond his control until he finally surrendered. Keith had done it before, kept him balancing on a knife’s edge until he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe without his partner’s name on his lips. Shiro always knew he could trust him.

His face was a mask of pleasure, half-hidden in their sheets as he swayed with every careful ministration. His nails left dark crescents in the thick flesh of his ass, and couldn’t stop touching himself, stroking his cock even as it made his breath hitch, touching his chest. His nipples hardening against the smooth fabric of their sheets.