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Jason huffs. "So lemme get this straight. Ivy had all these bombs set up, and instead of droppin' us where we stand, it just..." he gestures vaguely, "Makes Gotham smell better?"

The absurdity of it hits you all at once. A soft giggle bubbles up in your throat, and then another, until you're actually laughing, shaking your head.

"Damn," you say, breathless. "Deadliest eco-terrorist in Gotham, and she really just gave us a perfume sample."

Jason snorts. "The horror."

Dick rolls his eyes, standing up and dusting himself off. "Okay, well, if this was supposed to be some big master plan, I think we can call it a bust. Let's get back to the cave and let Bats know."

Jason claps a hand on your back, steering you toward the exit. "Yeah, yeah, before Ivy shows up and actually does somethin' dangerous."

None of you notice it yet. The subtle heat creeping into your limbs, the faint buzz just beneath your skin. By the time you're in the Batmobile, it's in you.

The car hums beneath you, the quiet rumble of the engine filling the space as Gotham blurs past the tinted windows. Jason's driving, one hand gripping the gear shift, the other draped lazily over the wheel. Dick's in the passenger seat, his mask still on, head tilted slightly like he's lost in thought.

And you? You're burning up, but not in a sick way. Not in an oh God, something's wrong way. It's just... heat. Low and thick, curling beneath your skin, settling deep between your thighs in a way that has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You tug at your collar, brows furrowing, but it doesn't help. Nothing does.

It's all there, wrong but right at the same time, pooling in the pit of your stomach, thrumming between your legs. Your thighs press together, the friction sending a sharp little spark up your spine.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare out the window, pretending like you're not embarrassingly close to squirming in the backseat of the goddamn Batmobile like some desperate, needy mess.

Maybe it's just—God, maybe it's just them. Jason and Dick, sitting up front, broad shoulders filling out their suits, muscles flexing with every shift of the steering wheel, every casual movement.

That's it, you tell yourself. That has to be it.

This is just because you've been down bad lately, right? Because let's be honest, you've spent way too many nights with your hand or your toys between your thighs, gasping their names into your pillow. It's ridiculous how often it happens, how they've completely hijacked your brain.

Jason, with his sharp mouth, broad chest, big hands. That stupid smirk that makes your stomach flip. His voice, rough and lazy when he calls you "doll" like it's the easiest thing in the world.

And then there's Dick. All smooth charm and soft lips, stupidly pretty even when he's bleeding, the kind of guy who can talk anyone into anything. That boyish grin, those ridiculous acrobat's hips. The way he looks at you sometimes, all teasing and playful but just sharp enough to make you wonder.

Truth be told, you're painfully under-fucked. Gotham's dating scene is trash, and while you could technically take the edge off yourself, your current stash of sex toys is... underperforming. No matter what setting, what angle, it's just not enough. Not enough pressure, not enough stretch, not enough them.

Because the worst part? The part that keeps you up at night, panting into your pillow, legs shaking from overstimulation?

You don't think about some faceless, nameless fantasy. You think about them.

Jason, his big hands pinning your wrists down, his voice rough against your ear as he stretches you open. Dick, slick with sweat, his mouth everywhere, moaning into your skin as he fucks you deep.

Sometimes—fuck—sometimes, it's both. One of them eating you out while the other fucks your mouth, one stuffing you full while the other whispers the filthiest things in your ear.

Your fingers have been the next best thing, but they always leave you wanting. And now, sitting here, feeling hotter by the second, it's all rushing back—every desperate, aching thought.

No. You shake your head, pressing a hand to your cheek. Get a grip. You are not about to get horny in the goddamn Batmobile. Except... you already are. And you're not the only one.

Up front, Dick shifts in his seat, biting the inside of his cheek, his fingers curled into fists on his thighs. His suit is... well, not built for this. The material is thick, durable, but not forgiving. His cock is already half hard, twitching every time the car hits a bump in the road, the sensation sparking something hot and needy down his spine.

His jaw tightens. His thoughts have already turned against him, flashing back to every moment he's ever had to force himself not to look at you, not to stare too long at the way your suit hugs your curves, not to think about how sweet you probably sound when you moan.

But now? Now it's like those thoughts are pumping through his veins. He shifts again, pulling his hand over his lap, casually resting his elbow on the car door, tilting his head like he's just relaxing. But his fingers curl into his thigh, his cock throbbing against the fabric, and shit, he can't stop thinking about you.

He clenches his jaw. This is fine. He can just breathe through it, ignore it. Right?

Because it doesn't make sense. One second, he's fine, the next, his skin is tight, his pulse is loud, his body thrumming like it's been wired wrong. His mind flashes back to the warehouse, to the smoke. Shit. Okay. Okay, this is fine. Except it's not fine because he chances a glance in the rearview mirror.

And that is a mistake. Because there you are, brows furrowed, teeth sinking into your lip, looking so warm and soft and pretty.

He forces his gaze forward, but his dick throbs insistently against the fabric of his suit, demanding attention, aching in a way that has him pressing his thighs together and shifting in his seat, trying to be subtle about it.

But Jason notices, because of course he does. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, fingers flexing as he watches Dick shift uncomfortably in his seat. The way his chest rises and falls a little too fast. The way he adjusts himself as subtly as he can.

Jason grits his teeth. Goddammit. This is already bad enough. He's used to getting hard, and that's not really news, considering he's around you.

It's embarrassing at this point. He's used to this constant, low-level problem whenever you're near. The way his body responds to you like some fucking reflex. A glance, a laugh, a casual touch, and suddenly, he's half-hard in his jeans like a goddamn teenager.

But this? This is different. This is fucking brutal. The heat is unbearable, his whole body buzzing with tension, his dick pressing uncomfortably against his pants. And fine, maybe he shouldn't be thinking about you right now, but his brain isn't listening.

It's giving him vivid fucking images—your lips wrapped around his cock, your pussy stretched around his fingers, the little gasps you'd make if he spread you open, if he fucked you just right. He exhales through his nose, gripping the steering wheel tighter, focusing on the road. Not now. Not fucking now.

And then there's Dick. Sitting there. Shifting around. Acting all innocent, but Jason knows. He sees the way Dick's jaw is clenched, the way he's hiding behind his fucking hands, the way his shoulders keep tensing like he's fighting something off.

And that's a whole other problem. Because Jason does not get hard around Dick. But now? Now, his cock is aching, pressing insistently against the inside of his jeans, and it's fucking weird because Dick is right there.

No way in hell he's acknowledging this. He focuses on the road, breathing in through his nose, willing the heat to settle, willing the blood to go anywhere but his dick. It doesn't work. His suit is hot, the collar too tight, his whole body buzzing with restless, frustrated energy.

His fingers flex against the wheel. "Goddamn it," he mutters under his breath.

Neither of you hear him, and that is concerning. And then, Jason chances a glance in the rearview mirror, and you're squirming.

Not a lot, but enough. Shifting in your seat, pressing your thighs together, lips parted ever so slightly, brows still drawn like you don't even realize you're doing it. He forces his eyes forward, gripping the wheel tight enough to hurt.

Oh, this is so fucked. And he knows—knows—it's about to get worse.

The second the Batmobile rolls into the cave, you're out.

"Okay—" you blurt, voice higher than usual. "I think I'm gonna take a shower."

You don't even wait for their answers before you're practically sprinting toward the locker room.

Jason clears his throat. "I think there was somethin' in that fuckin' smoke bomb."

"Yep," Dick says, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking like he wants to say more but physically cannot.

Jason glances away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Y'know what, maybe she's right. A shower wouldn't hurt. Maybe wash these clothes, too, given whatever the fuck was in that shit is on us."

"Yep," Dick repeats, and then, without another word, both of them hurry toward the showers.

The locker room is sleek—clean lines, dark tiles, recessed lighting that casts a soft glow instead of that harsh, clinical brightness most locker rooms have. It's modern but comfortable, not cold or uninviting, just functional.

The walls are lined with neatly organized gear, each section personalized to its owner, creating a sense of quiet efficiency. Even the air has a faint hint of something metallic, like fresh tech waiting to be put to use. It's a space that serves its purpose, but it also feels like it's built for those who belong, making it almost... homey in its own way.

The showers are set up in a row, each with tinted glass dividers that fog up easily with the heat—not fully clear, but not enough to hide everything, either. No doors, no curtains, just a spacious, open layout that suddenly feels like the worst possible decision Bruce could've made.

Not that you're thinking about that. Nope. You're focused on the water cascading over your skin, the steam curling around you, the way your body still burns in a way that has nothing to do with the hot spray.

And okay, fine. You might be a little slow on the uptake, but even you have to admit now that this? This is not normal. You've never felt this desperate before. Not even after a dry spell, not even after the nights you spent aching between your sheets, body wired with need that just wouldn't settle. This is different. Worse.

You exhale sharply, pressing your palms against the cool tile as the water rushes down your back. Okay. Deep breaths. Just... get through this. It'll wear off.

But then you fucking hear it. Jason's low muttering as he steps under the spray, the deep groan he lets out when the hot water crashes over him. Dick exhaling hard, shifting around, the slap of water against skin as he pushes his hair back. And now, somehow, this is fucking worse.

Because your brain? Yeah, it's not helping.

It's giving you images. Images of Jason, big and broad and dripping, water sliding down his chest, over those stupidly defined abs, down to his cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs.

And Dick, all lean muscle and smooth skin, his own cock probably flushed and aching, his face tipped back under the spray as he runs a hand over his body, slicking up every inch of himself.

You squeeze your eyes shut. No. Nope. Not doing this. Not right now.

But the heat between your legs is unbearable. Your fingers twitch at your sides, your clit throbbing, aching for relief, and fuck it, you slip your hand between your thighs.

Your breath stutters, thighs trembling as you press your fingers against your puffy, soaked clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles. And God, you're so fucking wet. Soaked. You can feel it, slicker than you've ever been, dripping down your thighs, mixing with the hot water as you rub yourself with quick, jerky movements.

This should do. Probably. Hopefully.

You bite your lip, forcing your moans down, listening, but the water covers any sound, the steady rush of the showers masking the way you whimper when your fingers slide lower, teasing at your entrance, dipping inside just enough to send a shudder up your spine.

This is fine. They can't hear you. They don't know. Right?

Dick exhales sharply, bracing one hand against the tile as the hot water rushes over him. His body is wired, his skin flushed, his cock still painfully, achingly hard even after scrubbing himself down, after doing everything in his power to focus on literally anything else.

But it's not working. It's. Not. Fucking. Working.

His jaw clenches as he glances down, swallowing hard at the sight of his cock—thick and heavy, desperate, the tip drooling precum as it twitches in the air. Okay, he can fix this.

It's just... the pollen. That's what this is. Not him, not you.

It's just a chemical reaction, and the fastest way to get this out of his system is to handle it. Quickly. Before it gets worse.

So he wraps his fingers around himself and gives a slow, experimental stroke. The relief is instant.

A shudder rolls down his spine as his breath hitches, his hand tightening just slightly as he jerks himself once, twice, watching the way his cock twitches, the way another thick bead of precum leaks from the tip, slicking up his palm.

Fuck, this is bad. Because now, now that he's touching himself, now that he's letting himself feel it—you're there. Well, not right next to him. Not really.

But in his head? You're everywhere. Your mouth on his, warm and desperate, your hands roaming down his chest, slipping lower, wrapping around his cock, pumping him with slow, teasing strokes.

Your breath, hot against his ear as you whisper his name, your tits pressed against him, soft and warm, your nipples dragging over his wet skin as you shift in his lap, grinding against his cock, your pussy so wet he can feel it even through the heat of the shower. His pace stutters, his breath turning ragged as his hips rock forward, fucking into his fist like a desperate, needy idiot.

Because fuck, he is needy. And the worst part? You're. Right. There.

A few feet away, just behind that glass divider, water rushing over your body, slicking up every inch of your skin, dripping down your tits, your stomach, your thighs.

And he wants you. Has for a long time.

But now? Now, it's not just want. It's need, and it's fucking unbearable. His hand moves faster, breath catching as his muscles tense, his balls pulling tight, his whole body thrumming with the need to cum.

Because he just needs to cum, and then this will be over. Right?

Jason has the exact same fucking thought.

Because his dick? Yeah, it's not going down. Not even slightly. His head tips back against the tile, a slow, heavy breath hissing through his teeth as he fists his cock, thick fingers wrapping tight around the swollen length. He's had plenty of inconvenient boners before.

That's just part of the package when he's got you in his life—skintight suits, little smirks, the way you fight like you own the city, like no one can touch you.

Yeah, he's used to being hard when you're around. But this? This is fucking ridiculous.

His whole body feels wired, too hot, like there's an electric current running under his skin. His dick hurts, heavy and flushed, leaking against his knuckles as he starts to stroke himself, slow and firm, the pressure making his breath hitch. This should help. This has to help.

He forces himself to think about other things—literally anything else—but his brain? Yeah, his brain is not cooperating.

Because all he can see is you. Your body under the spray, your tits glistening with water, your ass round and perfect, your thighs slick and parted just enough for him to see the way your pussy clenches, desperate and aching.

And fuck, you're right there. Right. Fucking. There.

So close he could just step over, press himself against your back, run his hands down your body, feel the way your slick little pussy drips against his fingers...

Fuck. His strokes get faster, hips bucking up into his own grip, stomach tightening as he groans under his breath, low and rough, trying to chase that sharp, bright edge of relief.

Because yeah, if he just gets this out of his system, if he just cums, then maybe he won't be thinking about how he wants to bury his cock inside you so fucking bad he's starting to lose his mind.

You rub your clit in tight little circles, slick and needy, but it's not enough. The ache between your thighs burns hotter with every second, but you can't tip over the edge. Not like this.

Not with Jason and Dick right there, close enough that your mind keeps conjuring them instead of whatever weak fantasy you were trying to focus on. You bite your lip, hips shifting slightly as your fingers work faster, but it's no use, because all you can think about is how good their hands would feel instead.

Jason's fingers, thick and rough, stretching you open. Dick's tongue, wet and eager, lapping at you until you're a trembling mess. Fuck. You let out a shaky breath and force yourself to stop, frustrated beyond belief, body pulsing with need that refuses to be satisfied.

Meanwhile, Jason is in his own personal nightmare. Fisting his cock was supposed to help. He thought if he just got off, the unbearable need would settle. But no, he's still rock hard, twitching in his grip, and he's gritting his teeth so hard it's a miracle his jaw hasn't snapped.

It's worse because you're right there. He knows you're showering only a few feet away, completely naked, slick water running down that perfect fucking body of yours, and it's driving him insane. His strokes slow, and he tips his head back against the tiled wall, a groan tearing from his throat before he can stop it.

And that's when Dick stiffens. Not just in the obvious way, though yeah, he's still rock hard, still throbbing, and still aching for more, even after cumming. His skin is flushed, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, and his cock hasn't softened at all. He's still leaking, still desperate, and it takes everything in him not to wrap his fingers around himself again and just keep going.

Then Jason groans again, and it clicks. Dick's movements still. His brows furrow slightly. And before he even thinks it through, his gaze shifts—just barely—toward Jason's stall.

Jason, who is definitely still jerking off. Heat rushes up Dick's spine, a mix of embarrassment and something else—something dangerous—curling deep in his gut. They're both fucked.

Jason must feel the stare, because his grip falters. He huffs a breath, tilting his head to the side just enough that their eyes meet through the fogged-up glass, and—

Oh. Oh, fuck.

The realization is heavy between them, thick with unspoken tension. Dick's lips part slightly, his fingers twitching at his side, and Jason—still flushed, still panting—grits his teeth, dragging a hand down his face like this is somehow his fault.

"This shit is fucked," Jason mutters, voice rough and strained.

Dick sways awkwardly, still pulsing with unbearable heat, and nods. Jason swallows hard, and when his gaze flicks to Dick, he finds the same wide-eyed, panting, wrecked expression staring back at him. They're both so far gone it's pathetic. And if they're this fucked, then you must be even worse.

And then? You step out of the stall.

Wrapped in nothing but a towel, beads of water dripping from your skin, steam curling around you like a fucking wet dream. And when you lift your gaze and see them, your breath catches.

Jason is still gripping his cock, hand frozen mid-stroke, his whole body stiff. Dick is still hard, still flushed, his eyes wide and dark as he takes you in. The tension is suffocating.

You all know what's happening here at this point. You swallow hard, your body throbbing with heat, and realization slams into you: none of you are getting through this alone.

The silence is thick, the kind that clings, all steam and heat and unsaid words hanging heavy in the air. All three of you just stand there, dripping wet, but you're the only one still clinging to any semblance of modesty, wrapped in a towel that suddenly feels too tight, too hot against your skin.

Dick and Jason? They're just there. Naked.

And maybe you'd all just keep standing here, awkward and unbearably turned on, if Dick didn't clear his throat and break the silence.

"So, uhm..." His voice cracks a little, and he grimaces before trying again. "There was something in the—"

"I know," you cut him off, and your voice is not as steady as you'd like it to be.

Jason, ever the blunt one, just snorts. "Yeah, so jerkin' off isn't doing shit."

That gets a laugh out of you, sharp and a little breathless. "You don't say."

And you really shouldn't be looking. You shouldn't. But they're right there. And when you finally, really let yourself look, trailing your gaze over bare skin, all toned muscle and broad shoulders and glistening tattoos, your eyes flicker down to their laps.

Fuck.

Your eyes drop before you can stop yourself, trailing down to where they stand, cocks heavy and thick against their stomachs, hard and mouthwatering, flushed at the tip.

Jason's hands flex at his sides, itching to reach for you.

Dick sways forward slightly, like he's barely restraining himself, like he wants to drop to his knees right then and there. And you whimper. A soft, needy little sound you cannot take back, and it feels like the air gets sucked out of the room.

Jason notices first—of course he does, always the one to pick up on the filthiest shit—and his eyes darken as his fingers twitch like he's about to grab you.

"So," he starts, voice thick, rough, the kind that settles low in your gut. "Maybe we should, uh... try and help each other out?"

You snap your gaze up to his face so fast your neck nearly cracks, and when you glance at Dick, he's already looking at you.

There's no denying it. There never has been. The attraction between you three has always been there, simmering under the surface, never acted on, never spoken out loud. You've thought about it. Of course you have. Working alongside them, running into them on patrol, spending late nights at the manor or in Jason's safe house—how couldn't you?

You know they like you. They know you like them. But friendship has always come first.

You know you're all good; you get tested regularly, a necessity when you're constantly fighting Gotham's worst, and besides, you're on birth control. You could walk away, end this right here, but they're right there. Naked, wet, needy, dicks that have no business being that fucking big, let alone rock solid.

And you want them so bad. So you do the only thing that makes sense: you let the towel slip from your fingers and drop to the floor.

The second it hits the tiles, their eyes devour you. It starts at your face, flicking down over the curve of your neck, the soft swell of your tits, the dip of your waist, the plush of your thighs—until finally, finally, both of them are staring straight at your bare, aching pussy, slick already glistening between your thighs.

And they look wrecked just from seeing you. Jason's jaw clenches, a muscle jumping in his cheek, and Dick sways slightly on his feet, but neither of them speak, too caught up in the sight of you until Jason finally breaks the silence.

"Fuck," he rasps, voice rough and thick. "You're fuckin' gorgeous."

Your face burns hotter, if that's even possible, heat rushing to your cheeks as they reach out almost in sync, hands gripping the knobs on their respective showers, twisting the water off in one smooth motion before stepping out.

And shit, they're even bigger up close.

Not just big, but big. Tall, broad, all muscle, sleek and strong, shoulders wide, thighs thick, every part of them defined—from the solid lines of their chests to the way their abs flex as they move, glistening wet, drops of water trailing down their skin in slow, teasing paths.

But it's their dicks that have you aching, twitching hard, flushed, heavy, and when Dick's cock gives a sharp throb, you bite back a moan so desperate it nearly chokes you.

Jason steps in first, heat radiating off him as he cups your cheek with one big, calloused hand, tilting your head up, eyes dark and hungry as he leans in.

And then he's kissing you. Hard, deep, hungry. His lips move against yours, hot and insistent, tongue sliding into your mouth like he's been waiting for this, starving for it, and fuck, he kisses like he fights—possessive, dominant, all-consuming.

His other hand doesn't hesitate, palms smoothing over your skin, rough fingers sliding straight down to your ass, grabbing a handful, squeezing tight, yanking you up flush against him until his cock presses firm against your belly.

You moan into his mouth, body shuddering as heat coils in your gut, hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into muscle, every inch of him burning against you.

Behind you, Dick curses under his breath, and you can feel the heat of his stare, feel the way his breath comes out sharp, ragged, as he watches Jason kiss you like he owns you.

Dick steps up behind you, heat radiating off his body, slick skin pressing against your back, and you melt between them. Sandwiched, trapped, caught between two broad, solid bodies, both of them flushed and aching, cocks hard and hot against your skin. Jason groans when your tits press into his chest, and then Dick—fucking Dick—lets out the softest, neediest little exhale against your ear as his hands slide up your sides.

His fingers trace over your ribs, then higher, cupping your tits, thumbs rolling over your nipples, teasing, stroking, making you gasp as Jason leans in and kisses you again.

It's not like before. This kiss is slower, deeper, Jason taking his time to drink you in. His tongue licks into your mouth, lazy, hungry, and his hands roam, one gripping the back of your neck while the other settles on your waist, fingers flexing like he can't decide whether he wants to pull you closer or just hold you there and enjoy every shaky breath you make.

Behind you, Dick's mouth is everywhere—pressing open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, up your throat, teasing your ear as his hand dips lower. Fingertips ghosting down, past your belly, until they finally find your puffy, swollen clit.

You twitch at the contact, a sharp little gasp escaping against Jason's lips, and Dick groans, louder this time, pressing a little firmer, rubbing teasing little circles as he mutters, "You're so fucking wet."

Jason pulls back just enough to watch your face, brushing his thumb over your kiss-swollen lips.

His voice is strained, rough as he asks, "You okay with this? With whatever's about to happen?"

His eyes are dark, intense, filled with want but laced with concern, because they need this, need you, but not like this, not unless you want it just as badly. You nod quickly, already breathless, but Dick? Dick's not having it.

He dips his head lower, mouth brushing right against your ear as he whispers, "Use your words, love. We don't wanna push you into anything."

It's almost cruel, the way his fingers slow down, teasing, playing, rubbing lazy, barely there strokes over your clit when all you want is more.

"Yes," you gasp, pushing into his touch. "Please."

That's all it takes. Jason and Dick lock eyes, silent for a moment, and then? Dick nods once, sharp, decisive, and says, "Sauna. Now."

Jason groans. "Jesus fuck, Dickie-bird."

But he doesn't argue. He just watches as Dick takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, guiding you toward the sauna with Jason trailing behind, adjusting the settings so it's warm, comfortable—not stifling, just enough to chase away the cold still clinging to your damp skin.

And the sauna? Yeah, of course it's luxurious as hell. Bruce built it, after all. The benches are smooth, made from high-quality wood, wide enough to lie down comfortably, and the warm lighting overhead makes everything feel softer, deeper. It's the kind of place you usually use when you're sore and beaten up after patrols, when you need to relax and let the heat soothe your body.

But tonight? Yeah, you're about to use it for something very different.

Before you can even process what's happening, Jason spins you around, hands everywhere, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing.

You yelp, legs spreading instinctively as he hooks his arms beneath your thighs, locking you open, exposing you, presenting you, and Dick fucking drops to his knees.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes, eyes locked on your dripping pussy, hands already reaching, fingers brushing your inner thighs as his mouth parts in awe. "Look at you."

Jason groans behind you, rolling his hips up just enough to grind his cock against your ass, kissing the side of your head, whispering, "You should see what you do to him, baby. He's fuckin' mesmerized."

And Dick? He kind of is. His chest rises and falls in shallow, desperate breaths as he stares, like he's starving, like he can't decide if he wants to taste you or just kneel there and worship.

Dick's hands grip your thighs, fingers pressing firm, grounding himself as he leans in, eyes fixed on your swollen, dripping pussy. His breath stutters out, warm against your slick skin, and he groans, low and wrecked, because fuck, this is so much better than he ever imagined.

And he has imagined it. More times than he'd ever admit. Nights spent fisting his cock to the thought of you, to the way your suit hugs your curves, to the way you smell when you're close, the teasing, flirty little smiles you send his way. He'd always wondered if you'd taste as good as you look.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice shaky.

With two fingers, he spreads you open, watching your slick drip, glistening in the dim heat of the sauna, and his tongue flicks out, hungry, catching a taste before he can stop himself.

And it wrecks him. His mouth seals over your cunt, tongue pushing deep, groaning as he devours you, hot and wet, lapping up every drop like he's been starving for it. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you steady as he buries himself between your legs, tongue stroking, circling, pushing in deep before dragging back out, flicking against your clit in slow, teasing swipes.

And the sounds you make? Insane.

Breathless, needy, these little gasps and whimpers that make Jason groan behind you, arms flexing as he adjusts his grip, holding you up like you weigh nothing. Solid and so hot against your back, his cock pressing thick against your ass, twitching every time you moan.

"Fuck, Grayson," Jason mutters, voice strained. "She's gonna lose it."

And you are.

Because fuck, Dick knows how to eat pussy. He's skilled, dedicated, every lick and suck sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He moans into you, the vibrations making you shudder, thighs trying to squeeze together, but Jason's grip doesn't let you move.

"Feels good, huh, baby?" Jason murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, his tone all smug and filthy, like he's enjoying this just as much as Dick is.

You can't even speak. Your fingers tangle in Dick's damp hair, clutching hard, back arching against Jason's chest as Dick flicks his tongue against your clit in quick, teasing strokes, like he knows exactly how to unravel you.

Jason groans behind you, his arms tightening around your legs. When your head falls against his shoulder and your eyes meet his, he kisses you.

Hard, deep, like he's claiming you, like he needs you just as much as Dick does. His tongue licks into your mouth, swallowing your moans, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, bruising.

You whimper against his lips, and he groans, rolling his hips against your ass, grinding his cock against you, needing friction, needing something, because fuck, this is too much.

And Dick? He just moans against your pussy, tongue fucking into you, making you shudder so hard Jason has to tighten his grip just to keep you steady.

"So fucking good," Dick mutters, pulling back just enough to flick his tongue over your clit before sucking it into his mouth, making you sob his name. "So sweet. Fuck, I could eat you for hours."

Jason breaks the kiss just to groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "Christ, Dickie, you're gonna kill her."

Dick grins against your skin, licking another slow, teasing stripe up your pussy, savoring the way you twitch, the way your fingers tighten in his hair, the way your little gasps turn into full whimpers, desperate and broken.

His fingers ghost over your entrance, teasing, barely there, making your pussy clench on nothing. You squirm in Jason's hold, breath hitching as anticipation coils tight in your stomach, but Dick takes his time. Watches the way you drip for him, spread open and helpless, Jason's arms locked under your thighs to keep you wide and vulnerable.

"Fuck," Dick rasps, his voice thick with arousal, his breath hot against your pussy. "You're soaked."

His thumbs part your folds, and he groans at the sight—slick, glistening, so fucking pretty. His tongue flicks over your clit again, and your whole body jerks, a whimper spilling from your lips.

Jason tightens his grip, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his cock twitching against you as he murmurs, "Easy, baby. Let him take care of you."

And fuck, Dick does take care of you. His mouth works you over, tongue lapping at your swollen clit, lips wrapping around it to suck, firm and slow, drawing needy little noises from your throat. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady, keeping you from writhing too much even though all you want to do is grind against his face, chase the pleasure that's building fast.

Then his fingers press at your entrance again, just the tips, teasing, and you moan, the need to be filled overwhelming. He chuckles against you, the vibration sending another pulse of heat through your core before he finally pushes a finger inside.

It's so much thicker than yours, so much longer, stretching you just enough to make your walls flutter around it. He eases it in, lets you adjust, then curls it up, searching, until—

"Fuck—" you gasp, back arching as he finds that spot, rubbing against it before sliding another finger in beside the first.

The stretch burns just a little, but the way he moves them—God, the way they scissor inside you, slick and warm, thrusting deep—has your mind blanking.

"Feel good, sweetheart?" Jason murmurs, brushing his lips along your jaw, hands adjusting their grip on your thighs as he holds you steady.

You nod frantically, but it's not enough. Not when you feel like you're unraveling from just this. "More," you breathe. "Please."

Dick groans like the plea physically pains him, but he doesn't stop, doesn't hesitate. His fingers thrust deeper, faster, stretching you open as his lips wrap around your clit again, sucking just right, tongue flicking against the swollen bud.

Your thighs tremble, pleasure tightening, the slick sounds of his fingers fucking into you obscene, messy, wet. You're dripping, leaking down his hand, onto his wrist, but he doesn't care. His cock is throbbing, leaking against his stomach, but he doesn't fucking care.

All he wants is to make you cum on his tongue. And God, you're close. You can feel it winding tighter and tighter, pleasure curling deep, building fast. Your mind is spinning, flooded with heat and hunger, desperate to feel them everywhere. Their mouths, their hands, their dicks stretching you wide—

Fuck, you're gonna cum.

It hits you fast. A sharp, electric snap of pleasure, burning through every nerve, sending you spiraling. Your whole body locks up, and then, you're cumming, and it's so much. Your cunt tightens around Dick's fingers, pulsing, fluttering, sucking him deeper as wave after wave of heat crashes through you.

It's almost too much. Your thighs tremble, your back arches, and a broken moan spills from your lips as your orgasm drags you under, pleasure rippling through every inch of you. You don't know if it's that fucking pollen messing with you or if Dick just knows how to make you come undone like this, but it feels insane. Shattering, like you're falling apart in Jason's arms, completely helpless to the pleasure tearing through you.

But Dick doesn't stop. He fucks you through it, thrusting his fingers deep, curling them just right, rubbing against that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. His mouth stays locked around your clit, sucking, flicking his tongue over it, dragging you higher, stretching out your orgasm until it's too much, too intense.

All you can do is choke out a breathless, "D-Dick, wait—"

But he doesn't.

Your body jerks, overwhelmed, but he doesn't stop. His fingers work you open, deep and relentless, his tongue still lapping at your clit, pushing, pushing—

And then you gush. A sharp, full body shudder racks through you as hot, slick arousal pours from your cunt, drenching his fingers, his wrist, his fucking face.

It splashes against the sauna floor, and heat flares in your chest, embarrassment creeping up your spine as you gasp, "S-shit, I'm s-sorry—"

Jason lets out a rough groan, voice thick with arousal. "Fuck. A squirter, huh? That's so fuckin' hot, doll."

Dick doesn't care. He doesn't stop. His mouth stays on you, licking up every drop, his fingers fucking you slow, coaxing another trembling aftershock out of your spent, twitching cunt.

Your body is wrecked, boneless in Jason's grip, but Dick soothes you. Soft kisses pressed to your puffy clit, to your inner thighs, murmured praises against your overheated skin.

Jason groans against your ear, nipping at your jaw as he murmurs, "So pretty when you lose it, baby."

Dick finally pulls his fingers from your soaked pussy, and you whimper at the emptiness, body still twitching in the aftermath. He stands up, lifting his hand between you, watching the way your slick drips from his fingers before he licks them clean, moaning like he just tasted the best thing in the world.

And then he's kissing you.

It's not like Jason's kisses—Jason devours you, rough and desperate, all teeth and tongue. Dick? Dick takes his time. His lips move slow over yours, teasing, coaxing, his tongue sliding into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him.

His cock grinds against your swollen, soaked pussy, dragging thick and leaking between your folds, and you feel the heat of Jason against your back as he presses closer, lips finding your neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving marks.

Dick pulls back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with need.

"You still with us, love?" he murmurs, voice low, sweet, but so thick with hunger.

And you are. But you need more. Jason slowly lowers you to the ground, careful, like he knows your legs won't hold you up yet. And he's right. The second your feet touch the sauna floor, your knees almost buckle, but they're right there.

Jason's strong hands steady your waist, while Dick's arms wrap around you, letting you melt against his chest, your cheek pressed to his flushed, sweat-damp skin. His heartbeat is racing, just like yours.

They try to soothe you, even though they're still buzzing with need, cocks aching, pulsing, leaking against your skin. You can feel it, how hard they both are, how they're holding back, muscles tensed like they're barely keeping themselves together.

Dick's fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your head up as he murmurs, "You okay?"

His voice is strained, rough with hunger he's barely keeping in check.

You nod, breathless. "I need more. I want you both, I want—"

Jason groans, low and wrecked, because fuck, his dick hurts, throbbing, hot, swollen with need. He's usually not like this—he's got control, he can push past anything, but this?

That fucking pollen? His logic is gone. The only thing left is the raw, aching need clawing at his gut, the sight of you, flushed and needy, still dripping from what Dick did to you.

"You sure?" Dick asks, voice tight, hesitant, because they care, because you're friends, because this is everything all at once.

"Yes," you gasp. "Fuck, I can't—I need more."

They try to resist. Try to be good, to be the men who have held themselves back all these years, who have ignored the teasing, the tension, the way you've always looked at them.

But it's too much. You're naked, hot, trembling between them, still soaked with slick and sweat, so fucking desperate for them, just like they are for you.

They exchange a look, like they're about to actually say something, like they're going to make one last attempt at self-control.

But you're having none of it.

You grab both their hands, lacing your fingers with theirs as you guide them toward one of the benches, the air thick with tension, steam, and the undeniable pull of something you've all been trying to ignore for too long.

You stop in front of Dick, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as you say, "Sit down."

And he does, because of course he does. Because he knows better than to fuck with you when you've made up your mind, and even though you're smaller than both of them, you've always had a way of getting what you want.

You grab a few towels, spreading them on the floor in front of him because, honestly? Your body is already gonna be wrecked when this is over—bruises, hickeys, everything—and you really don't need your knees all fucked up on top of it.

Then, slowly, you kneel between his legs.

Jason is still standing behind you, watching, stunned, because sure, you've always been bold. You've flirted, teased, laughed in their faces when they tried to resist you, but this? This is something else.

You turn your head, looking up at Jason through heavy lashes, and say, "I need you to fuck me while I suck Dick off."

They both go still. Like their brains just short-circuited. Like they can't quite believe what the fuck just came out of your mouth.

And you can see it happening, the exact moment something inside them snaps, because they've both fantasized about this, both thought about it more times than they'd ever admit, and now? Now you're on your knees, looking up at them, demanding it.

Dick swallows hard, his cock twitching, leaking against his stomach. His hands clench at his sides like he's trying so fucking hard to keep control. Jason? Jason just lets out a rough, breathless laugh, shaking his head, because fuck, you're gonna kill him.

Your ass wiggles as you shift into position, and behind you, Jason groans, deep and rough. "Fuck, look at you."

His big hands settle on your hips, hot and firm, fingers flexing like he's trying so hard to keep himself in check. And he can't help it, so he slaps your ass, the sharp sting sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your cunt.

"Oh—"

You gasp, thighs twitching, and Jason smirks, rubbing the mark he left behind, soothing the heat with his palm. "You like that shit, huh?"

You nod, looking over your shoulder at him with wide, glassy eyes, and his grip tightens.

"Got it, baby."

Then you turn back to Dick, gaze dropping to his cock. And God, he's just as long as Jason, maybe a little thinner, but just as pretty, thick and flushed, the veins along his shaft standing out against the hot, velvety skin. Precum beads at the tip, glistening, and when you lick your lips, Dick shudders, his breath hitching in his throat.

Behind you, Jason's hands slide lower, thumbs dragging over the curve of your ass before he spreads you open, groaning when he gets a good look at you.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters under his breath, almost dazed, like he can't believe what he's seeing.

You're so wet, swollen, your slick dripping down your thighs, smearing against the inside of his fingers. And your pussy? Fuck, it's the prettiest fucking thing he's ever seen—hot, flushed, clenching around nothing, like you're begging for something to fill you up.

His head tips back for a second, like he needs to pull himself together, but when he looks down again, when he sees your cunt flutter around nothing, aching to be fucked?

He's fucking gone.

Because he knows you're gonna squeeze his dick like a glove, knows you're gonna be so fucking tight, so hot and wet around him that he might actually lose his mind. You're perfect. And this? This can't be real.

But oh, it is.

You shift your weight onto your knees, looking up at Dick, and he looks like he's about to lose his fucking mind too. Especially when you wrap your fingers around his cock. He sucks in a breath, head falling back against the bench as your grip tightens, your palm gliding over his length, slow and teasing.

Then you lean in, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of his thigh, and Dick whimpers. The sound makes your cunt throb, pleasure sparking up your spine, because he looks so good like this—so flushed, so desperate, so pretty.

His cock pulses in your hand, leaking all over your fingers, and you purr, "Poor Grayson," before pressing a soft kiss to the tip, tongue flicking out to lap up his precum, tasting the salt and heat of him.

Behind you, Jason curses under his breath, and then you feel the hot, thick weight of his cock press against your dripping cunt.

You gasp, back arching as he rubs the wet head of his dick over your slit, dragging it up and down, teasing your swollen, puffy folds, mixing his precum with your slick until you're soaked in it.

And you? You're trembling. Because you need this. You need them. The second your lips part, taking Dick's cock into your mouth, his hand tangles in your hair. His fingers thread through the strands, tugging just enough to make your scalp tingle, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his other hand cradling your cheek.

You moan around him, the sound vibrating through your throat, and he hisses, his head tipping back against the bench. "Fuck—"

You take him deeper, inch by inch, your jaw stretching to accommodate his length. He's thick, hot, the weight of him pressing against your tongue as you hollow your cheeks and suck. His thighs tense under your palms, muscles jumping when you bob your head slow, teasing, testing how much of him you can take.

His fingers tighten in your hair, his hips twitching—just barely—but you feel it, the way he wants to thrust, to fuck himself down your throat, but he waits, panting, letting you set the pace.

Behind you, Jason is shaking. Shaking.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, his whole body tight, because fuck, your ass is wiggling, pushing back against him, grinding against his cock like you're trying to drive him insane.

And it's working. His dick throbs, thick and aching, leaking against your soaked, swollen cunt as you shift again, tilting your hips just right, and Jason snaps. He lines himself up and starts to push in, slow, deliberate, even though his whole body is telling him to fuck you, to take you, to split you open and wreck you.

But he waits. He has to wait. Because he knows he's big, and with how tight you are—so hot and wet, squeezing around just the tip—he can't move, not even if he wanted to.

His whole body trembles as he leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, grounding himself as much as he's grounding you. His big hands smooth up and down your sides, soothing, steadying, feeling the way your breath shudders as you try to relax, try to take him deeper.

But he waits, even though every muscle in his body is coiled tight, his jaw clenched so hard it aches, because even through the pollen haze, Jason cares. He needs you to feel good.

Your walls stretch around him, clutching at him, and he slides in so easily, your pussy welcoming him, pulling him in. He sinks in slow, inch by inch, splitting you open until he's fully sheathed inside you, buried to the hilt, and you can't help but moan. The vibration makes Dick's hips jerk, a curse tumbling from his lips as his fingers tighten in your hair.

And Jason?Jason groans, burying himself inside you, his forehead dropping against the back of your shoulder.

"Breathe, baby," he mutters against your skin, his lips trailing slow, soft kisses along your shoulder, his body trembling as he forces himself to stay still, to let you adjust, even though he wants to move so fucking bad.

He gives you time, even though his entire body is screaming at him to fuck you, to finally lose himself in the heat of your cunt.

"You're doin' so good," he rasps, voice strained, like the feel of your pussy wrapped around his cock is driving him straight to the fucking edge.

You slide off Dick's cock with a gasp, a line of spit still connecting your lips to his flushed tip. Your fingers tighten around the base, stroking him as your head dips forward, and Jason groans behind you, eyes clenching shut, breathing through it, fighting against the way your pussy is milking his cock.

You can't breathe. You can't think. The feeling is overwhelming, his cock pulsing deep inside you, stretching you so wide you feel full. Too full, almost, but Jason soothes you through it, his lips trailing soft, slow kisses along your skin.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters under his breath, his jaw clenched, his whole body so tight he thinks he might snap in half.

And then, finally, you shift against him. A tiny moan leaves your lips, and Jason can't wait any longer. Slowly, he pulls out, his cock dragging against your sensitive, fluttering walls, making your whole body tremble. Then he pushes back in, just as slow, filling you up again, stretching you, claiming every inch of your cunt.

It burns. It aches—just a little. Your whimper is soft, almost inaudible, but Jason hears it.

And he shushes you, kissing your shoulder again, whispering, "You're doin' so fuckin' good for me."

Jason's grip tightens on your waist, fingers digging into your soft skin as he starts to move, slow and deliberate, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, filling you up again, making you moan.

It's too slow, too teasing. You need more.

So you refocus, letting yourself drown in the heat of Dick's body, the way his cock twitches in your grip, thick and flushed and leaking all over your fingers. You slide your tongue over the tip, swirling around the slit, savoring the salty taste of his precum before taking him back into your mouth, sinking deeper this time.

The stretch is obscene, your lips stretched wide around him, your jaw aching as you push further, inch by inch, your throat tightening as he hits the back of your mouth. You gag, drool spilling from the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin, but you don't care.

You love it. It's better than every fantasy you've ever had, better than every late night thought of them, better than you could've ever imagined. Because they feel so good, sound so good, and you know you're not coming back from this.

Dick is gone. His fingers tangle in your hair again, watching the way you take him, the way you look up at him with glassy, desperate eyes, and fuck, you're so pretty like this, drooling all over his cock, taking him so fucking deep.

His whole body tenses, muscles tight, abs flexing, the veins in his forearms standing out as he tries to control himself, to hold back, but Jesus Christ, you're making it so fucking hard.

Jason is just as wrecked. His pace is still slow, but he's obsessed, his mind fuzzy with how good you feel, how tight you are, how fucking perfect your pussy is wrapped around his cock, gripping him like a vice.

He has to see it.

So he moves his hands from your waist, big palms spreading over the curve of your ass, gripping the flesh before pulling your cheeks apart, groaning when he gets a clear view of your soaked cunt stretched so tight around his dick.

His cock twitches, a groan slipping from his lips because fuck, you're swallowing him whole, your pussy gripping every inch of him, making a mess all over his cock, slick glistening along his length.

This is the best pussy he's ever had. But he knows it's you. It has nothing to do with that pollen. It's you.

And he's so fucking gone over you.

You whimper around Dick's cock, your eyes flicking up to meet his, watching the way his chest rises and falls in quick, desperate pants. And then, slowly, you let him slip from your mouth again, gasping for air, your hand tightening around the base as you pant.

"Fuck my mouth."

Dick freezes, his breath hitching, his lips parting as his brows furrow, like he's not sure he heard you right.

"W-what?"

You lick your lips, eyes heavy-lidded, spit glistening along your chin as you repeat, slow and clear. "Fuck. My. Mouth."

His whole body shudders, and he doesn't even think. Doesn't hesitate. He does it.

His grip tightens in your hair as he tilts your head back, and then he's pushing in, slow but firm, guiding his cock past your lips, groaning as the heat of your mouth wraps around him.

And behind you, Jason hisses, his fingers tightening on your ass before landing another sharp slap, making you jolt forward.

"Shit," he groans, his voice thick with arousal, dark with want. "You're freaky as fuck."

Dick's grip tightens in your hair as he starts to move, slow at first, thrusting shallowly, watching the way his cock glides over your slick tongue, the way your lips stretch around him, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"God, baby," he groans, voice strained, wrecked, his abs flexing as he pushes deeper, testing your limits, his hips jerking when you moan around him. "You feel so good—fuck, you're perfect. So sweet for me, taking me so well."

His words make your pussy clench around Jason's cock, the praise making your head spin, making you drool more as you relax your throat, letting Dick push deeper, the head of his cock nudging the back of your mouth. Your eyes flutter, heat sparking in your core as he fucks your mouth in slow, deliberate strokes.

His breath is ragged, his voice thick as he murmurs, "Just like that, pretty girl. You're doing so good. Such a perfect little thing."

Behind you, Jason groans, his grip bruising as he watches you take it, eyes dark, hungry.

"Fuck," he rasps, his voice rough, thick with need. "Look at you. So fuckin' nasty, baby. Goddamn, you're gonna make me lose my shit."

His hands slide over your ass, squeezing, spreading you open so he can watch the way your pussy stretches around his cock, gripping him like a fucking vice, sucking him in, milking him.

"You're so tight," he groans, his cock twitching inside you, his jaw clenching. "So fuckin' wet. Jesus Christ, this is the best pussy I've ever had."

The words make your walls flutter, make your body throb, and you can't help yourself. You push back against him, grinding your ass into his hips, moaning around Dick's cock as Jason curses, his fingers tightening on your ass.

And then he snaps. His patience shatters, his control slipping as he slams into you, knocking the breath from your lungs, making your eyes roll back.

"Fuck, yeah," Jason growls, dragging you back onto his cock, setting a relentless rhythm, fucking you deeper, harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the steam-filled air. "That's what you wanted, huh? Wanted me to fuck you like this? Shit, you're so fuckin' needy, baby."

Your moans vibrate around Dick's cock, making him groan, his hips stuttering.

"Jesus Christ," he gasps, his fingers tugging on your hair, his head tipping back as he watches you, his cock throbbing as you swallow around him. "You're so fucking good, baby."

Jason groans, his cock dragging against your walls, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure skittering down your spine.

"Look at you," he rasps, voice low, dark, wrecked. "Gettin' your mouth fucked, gettin' your pussy fucked—shit, baby, you're drippin' all over my dick."

His words send a sharp throb through your core, making your walls squeeze around him, making him curse.

"Yeah, you like that? You like bein' a messy little thing?"

His words mix with Dick's soft, sweet praise, the contrast making your head spin, making your body ache for more, more, more. You're soaked, you're gone, and you're about to cum so hard.

Dick's fingers clench tighter in your hair, his whole body shaking as you take him deeper, swallowing him down until your nose brushes against the soft patch of hair at the base of his cock. His moans grow louder, ragged, his hips jerking forward, his self-control slipping between his fingers.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his voice wrecked, shaking. "You're—shit, you're gonna make me—"

You hum around him, hollowing your cheeks, sucking him harder, and that's it. That's all it takes for him to lose it.

His cock twitches on your tongue, the thick veins pulsing against the heat of your mouth as his orgasm slams into him, ripping through him like a live wire.

"Oh, fuck—"

His breath catches, his whole body locking up as the first hot pulse of his cum spills onto your tongue, thick and heavy, coating your throat as he shudders, trembles, his head tipping back against the wall, his lips parting in a wrecked, shaking moan.

You swallow it all, every last drop, your throat working around him, and it's too much. His thighs tense, his abs flex, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his hips jerk, his cock throbbing, overstimulated, as you keep sucking, drawing out every last spurt of his release.

"Jesus Christ, baby," he whimpers, his grip tightening for a second before his hand slips from your hair, his body melting, shaking, spent.

You finally let him slide free with a soft, wet pop, licking the last traces of him from your lips, and when he finally cracks his eyes open, looking down at you with flushed cheeks and a dazed, blissed out expression, he groans.

"God," he breathes, still catching his breath, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip, cleaning up the mess he left behind. "You're so fucking good."

You only have a second to grin before Jason grabs you. His arm wraps around your waist, yanking you up, pulling you against his chest as he slams his cock back into your pussy, the force of it making you gasp, your body arching as he fills you up again, stretching you all over.

"Fuckin' shit," Jason growls, his voice low, desperate, his breath hot against your ear as he pounds into you, his cock hitting deep, slamming into that spot inside you that makes your whole body tremble.

His free hand slides down, finding your clit, rubbing in quick, tight circles, his fingers slippery with your arousal.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he grits out, his voice dark, wrecked. "Gonna soak my fuckin' dick?"

You whimper, nodding desperately, your nails digging into his arms, your whole body coiling tight, every thrust, every press of his fingers sending you closer to the edge.

Your head tilts back, your lips parting, and Jason takes it as an invitation. His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss filthy, messy, his tongue sliding against yours as he fucks you harder, deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the steam thick air.

It's too much. The way he's pounding into you, the way his fingers are rubbing your clit, the way his mouth is devouring yours—it's all too much.

You shatter. Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, your body locking up as your walls clamp down around Jason's cock, your pussy spasming, milking him as you moan into his mouth, your whole body shaking from the force of it.

But he doesn't stop.

"Yeah," Jason groans, his pace relentless, his fingers still working your clit, pushing you higher, keeping you right there, shoving you into another orgasm before you can even catch your breath.

"Oh—fuck—"

Your whole body seizes, and then you gush, hot, wet, soaking his cock, the mess dripping down your thighs, pooling on the towels beneath you as your mind goes blank. Jason groans, his grip bruising, his voice full of awe and lust and pure fucking greed.

"Shit, baby," he growls, his hand sliding up your stomach to cup your tits, squeezing, his hips still slamming into you. "You're so fuckin' hot—goddamn, look at this mess you're makin'."

You're gone, trembling in his arms, panting, whimpering, still coming, your body wrecked, and he loves it.

But even after you've soaked his dick, even after you've cum so hard your legs shake and your body trembles, he just keeps going, fucking you through it, chasing his own high, refusing to let you catch your breath.

Your thoughts are a mess, a haze of heat and pleasure and pure, desperate need. Every time he thrusts back inside, it knocks the air from your lungs, sending another sharp jolt of electricity up your spine, making your toes curl.

His dick is so big, so hot, so thick, stretching you to your limit, the swollen head hitting your cervix with every deep, brutal stroke, the impact sending sparks of pain-laced pleasure licking up your spine.

Jason groans, his breath hot against your ear, his big hands sliding from your waist to your tits, squeezing, kneading, rolling your sensitive nipples between his fingers.

"Fuck, baby," he moans, voice wrecked, breathless. "You feel so good—tight little pussy's so fuckin' wet, takin' my dick like a fuckin' dream."

His voice is a growl, his breath ragged, filthy, and it makes you clench around him, your body reacting to the sheer, raw hunger in his voice.

"Drippin' down my fuckin' balls, makin' a mess all over me," he mutters, his pace getting faster, his hips snapping against your ass, the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin filling the air. "Such a fuckin' good girl, lettin' me fuck you like this—shit—"

His moan is deep, gritty, his lips brushing against your neck, and it makes your brain melt.

You can feel Dick watching.

His heavy, ragged breathing, the way he groans softly under his breath every time your tits bounce from the sheer force of Jason's thrusts, the way he's still hard, his cock resting heavy against his abdomen as he watches Jason destroy you.

Jason buries his face in your shoulder, his pace stuttering, and then his voice turns urgent, desperate. "Shit," he pants. "Where do you want me to cum, doll?"

The words slip out before you even think.

"Inside," you whimper, the plea ragged, breathless. "Inside me, please."

Jason groans, his arms tightening around you, his body shaking. "Fuck."

He grabs your waist, slamming into you, fucking you like a man possessed, like he's starving for you, like he needs to be as deep as possible, stretching you wide, filling you to the fucking brim.

And it's like something in Dick snaps. He drops to his knees, his big hands sliding up your thighs, and then his fingers find your clit.

"Oh—fuck—"

Your whole body seizes—Jason's cock splitting you open, fucking you deep and hard, pounding into your soaking cunt while Dick's fingers rub your puffy, far-too-sensitive clit, quick and precise, pushing you higher, driving you insane.

Then Dick leans in, his lips brushing against yours, swallowing your moans, devouring them, and God, this has to be the hottest fuck of your life.

His tongue, hot, wet, messy against yours, kissing you like he needs you, like he's starving for the taste of your pleasure.

And shit, these two men—hot as fuck, sweaty, desperate, ruining you. They are going to wreck you for anyone else for sure.

Jason groans, his pace brutal, his cock pounding into your swollen, soaked pussy, stretching you so wide, splitting you open, filling you so deep you can feel him in your stomach.

He's right there, right on the edge, voice rough, breath ragged as he mutters, "C'mon, baby, I'm so close. Fuck, gimme one more, let me feel you."

And then, Dick starts slapping your clit slightly. It's sharp, the sting mixing with the unbearable pleasure of Jason's cock fucking you stupid, and that's it, you snap.

Your whole body locks up, your pussy clenching down hard around Jason's cock, milking him, your legs trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, drowning you in wave after wave of pure, burning pleasure.

Your mouth falls open in a wrecked, wordless moan, eyes rolling back, sweat dripping down your skin as you shake, your whole body on fire, pleasure exploding behind your eyelids, your clit throbbing, your walls spasming around Jason's thick cock.

And he loses it.

"Fuck—" His breath punches out of him, a deep, desperate groan rumbling through his chest, his grip on your hips turning bruising as your pussy chokes his cock, squeezing him so tight he can't hold back.

He buries himself to the hilt, grinding deep, grinding so fucking deep, and then, he cums. Thick, hot spurts of cum flood your pussy, painting your walls, filling you up so much you can feel it, dripping out around his cock, mixing with your slick as he lets out a deep, wrecked groan.

But he doesn't stop.

Even as his dick throbs, even as he pulses inside you, he grits his teeth and fucks it deeper, slow, deep rolls of his hips, making sure every last drop stays buried inside you, making sure you feel it.

Dick's fingers never stop, still rubbing your aching clit, making you whimper, making your whole body jolt, your thighs quivering, your nipples aching, your pussy so full and sensitive that every little movement makes you twitch.

And then Dick finally lets you breathe.

He breaks the kiss, his lips swollen, his breathing uneven, his eyes dark with lust as he soothes you, his hands smoothing up your back, down your arms, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your temple, whispering soft praises against your skin.

Your breath shudders out of you, your head dropping forward onto Dick's shoulder as Jason stills behind you, his chest rising and falling, sweat slicking his skin, his grip still tight on your waist, grounding you as you tremble in their hold.

Jason does the same, his big hands rubbing slow, warm circles into your waist, his lips brushing against your shoulder, his breath deep, calming, as he lets you come down.

But it's not enough. You still need more.

Your whole body buzzes with it, aching with it, and before you can stop yourself, before you can even think, the words tumble from your lips, breathless, desperate, "I need... I—w-want you both at the same time."

Jason freezes. "Fuckin' shit."

His arm tightens around your waist, his cock still buried inside you, twitching just at the thought of it.

And Dick? His breath catches, his fingers tightening against your skin, his lips parting as his brows furrow, something unreadable flickering across his face before he cups your cheek, pressing soft, sweet kisses all over your flushed skin.

"Love, maybe we should—"

"No," you shake your head, chest heaving. "I need it. I—fuck, I need more."

Dick hesitates. "But we'd need lube, and—"

"I have some," you gasp. "In—in my locker. In my bag."

They both freeze. Jason raises a brow, his lips twitching, while Dick blinks at you, head tilting slightly.

"...You what?"

Your face burns. "I just bought it—I was gonna take it home, but I kept forgetting—"

Jason smirks, shaking his head, while Dick huffs out a quiet laugh before turning on his heel.

"I'll get it."

Your thoughts swirl, still dazed, still high from pleasure. It's really just a coincidence, something you bought last week and forgot to leave at home, but now? Now, you're just grateful you have it.

The second Dick is gone, Jason leans in, his lips brushing against yours, slow, deep, his tongue dragging along your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth. You moan softly, body pressing into his, heat still pooling low in your stomach.

When he pulls away, his smirk is sharp, eyes dark.

"You just bought it, huh?"

Your eyes dart away, face burning, and he chuckles. Then Dick is back, the bottle of lube in hand, and he's grinning, but there's something in his eyes, something darker, something hungrier.

He tosses the bottle onto the bench, his gaze flickering between you and Jason before he murmurs, "That's real convenient, sweetheart."

Jason's lips brush against your neck, hot and damp with sweat, his breath still ragged as he drags his mouth along your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the flushed heat of your throat. His hands slide down your waist, holding you, still keeping you close, as if he doesn't want to pull away just yet.

But then he does. His cock slips free, and the loss makes you whine, your walls clenching around nothing, feeling so empty after being stretched and filled so deep.

Jason chuckles, low and rough, pressing another slow kiss to your shoulder before he straightens, his hands steady on your waist as he helps you up, keeping you from collapsing completely. And then, his cum starts dripping out of you.

Thick, warm, messy, streaking down your thighs, slick and obscene, mixing with your own wetness, making your skin glisten under the dim lights.

Jason groans, watching it, his fingers squeezing at your hips before he turns you around, cupping your face with both hands, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him.

He kisses you, deep, messy, wet.

His tongue pushes past your lips immediately, curling against yours, dragging along the roof of your mouth, swallowing the small gasp you let out as he dominates the kiss.

It's all spit and heat, his grip firm, his fingers digging into your jaw as he devours you, groaning into your mouth, his own hips twitching forward instinctively, as if he's not done with you yet.

And maybe he's not. When he finally pulls away, your lips are slick with spit, swollen and tingling, your breath coming in short, shaky gasps.

But Jason just smirks, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip as he murmurs, "Took me so fuckin' well."

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, heat coiling in your belly, but you don't even have time to dwell on it because you're already turning to Dick, your whole body still thrumming with need.

"Lay on the bench."

His brows lift, lips parting slightly, but he doesn't question it. He grabs some towels first, spreading them out so he can sit more comfortably, before laying back, his cock still hard, standing thick and flushed against his stomach, twitching slightly as he watches you, pupils blown.

You barely give him time to think. You climb on top of him, straddling his hips, and the moment your soaked pussy presses against his cock, dragging along his length, he groans, his head falling back slightly.

"Fuck," he breathes, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding up to cup your ass. "That pollen fucked us up badly."

You nod, whimpering, rubbing yourself against him, smearing Jason's cum and your own slick all over his cock, making it all slippery, all hot, and then, Dick grinds right back.

His hands tighten on your ass, his hips rolling up against yours, rubbing the thick, leaking head of his cock against your throbbing clit, making you moan, making your thighs tremble from the overstimulation.

But you need him inside. Now. Lifting yourself up, you barely hesitate before sinking down onto his cock, and it's so easy. You're soaked, dripping, stretched wide and ready from Jason, and Dick slides right in, filling you up in one smooth, wet motion, the thick length of him pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Dick gasps, his fingers flexing against your ass, his chest rising sharply as his brows furrow, his mouth falling open in a soft, breathless moan. His thoughts are a mess.

He's inside you. He's inside you, and you feel so fucking good. So tight, so warm, so fucking wet, and it's all for him.

Well, for him and Jason, all of you caught up in this fever, this unbearable need, and fuck, he never thought this would happen, never thought he'd get to feel you like this, but now... now he can't stop thinking about it.

Can't stop thinking about how you feel around him, how you're squeezing him, how your slick drips down his length, coating his cock, making it so easy to slide deeper, making it so fucking hot.

"Jesus," he groans, his head tipping back, his fingers gripping at you. "Baby, you feel... fuck, you feel so good."

Dick can't stop kissing you. It's like he's obsessed, like he needs his mouth on you just as much as he needs to fuck you.

Every time his hips drive up, his cock sinking deep inside your dripping cunt, he's pulling you down to meet him, his lips crashing against yours, groaning into your mouth like he's drunk on the heat of you, the taste of you, the way your walls grip him so tight every time he moves.

"God, baby," he pants against your lips, voice breathless, wrecked, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts up into you again, harder this time, his cock rubbing against every tender, sensitive spot inside you. "I can't stop, I can't—"

You moan, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, clinging to him, feeling every shift of his muscles, every snap of his hips as he fucks into you with slow, deep, needy strokes.

And across from you, Jason watches. His lips are slightly parted, his chest rising with each heavy breath, his eyes locked on the way Dick's cock sinks in and out of your soaked, used pussy, slick noises filling the sauna, making his jaw clench.

"Fuck," he mutters, his grip tightening around his cock, stroking himself slowly.

His breath catches as he watches the way your body takes it, how easy it is for Dick to slide into you after he already ruined you, stretching you out, leaving you so wet that it's effortless.

His free hand slides up your back, fingers tracing along the sweat-slick curve of your spine, following it down to your ass, where he grips the flesh and spreads you slightly. The moment he does, he groans at the sight of Dick's cock fucking into your pussy, your hole clinging to him, soaked and messy, your juices dripping down to your thighs, making the whole thing so fucking filthy.

You hear the slick pop of a bottle being opened, and then, his fingers, cool and slick with lube, gliding over the rim of your other hole. A soft, teasing touch.

Your breath hitches, a shiver running through you even as you grind down onto Dick's cock, making him groan, his hands flexing against your hips. Jason smirks, rubbing slow circles around your rim, massaging the tight muscle, teasing it, not pushing in just yet.

"Gotta stretch you open first, doll," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the dip of your spine. "Don't wanna hurt you."

You nod, panting, pressing back into his hand as he finally, slowly, pushes in the tip of his finger. Your body twitches at the stretch, a sharp inhale escaping you as your walls flutter around Dick's cock at the same time, making him groan, his brows furrowing as he tries to keep himself from losing it.

Jason waits a moment, watching the way you react, his other hand rubbing slow circles along your waist, his voice softer this time when he asks, "You okay, baby?"

You exhale shakily, nodding, your body adjusting to the new sensation, the slight pressure of his finger stretching you open.

And then he starts to move.

Slowly, teasingly, fucking you with the single finger, slipping it in and out in careful strokes, feeling the way your body responds, the way your walls tremble around him, your moans growing softer, more desperate as he adds another finger.

A low, drawn out out moan escapes you, your body twitching, your walls fluttering around Dick's cock again, making him groan, his fingers gripping your hips harder.

"You're so fuckin' tight," Jason mutters, his forehead pressing to your shoulder as he works his fingers in deeper, stretching you open, his cock twitching at the way you pulse around him.

His movements stay patient, calculated, letting you get used to every single sensation, letting you feel it, your body reacting to both him and Dick at the same time, your nerves lighting up from how much stimulation there is, how they're everywhere all at once.

By the time he slides in a third finger, you're trembling, panting, your nails digging into Dick's shoulders as he groans at the way you keep clenching around him.

"You're doin' so good, baby," Jason murmurs against your back, pressing a slow kiss between your shoulder blades, fingers curling inside you, stretching you wider.

Dick keeps kissing you. He can't stop.

His lips keep finding yours between every breathless moan, every shaky exhale, every soft noise that leaves your lips as Jason's fingers work you open, stretching you wider, preparing you for his dick.

You can barely think. Your body is trembling, nerves buzzing, your mind foggy with want, with need, your hands gripping Dick's shoulders as he pants against your lips, "You feel so good, sweetheart, I—fuck, I need to feel you."

Jason growls against your skin, his fingers sinking deeper, pushing past the tight ring of muscle until he's knuckle-deep, fucking them in and out in slow, filthy thrusts. He watches you shudder, listens to the way you gasp, the way your thighs tremble when he curls his fingers just right.

"Relax," he murmurs, dragging his teeth over your neck, his free hand gripping your hip to keep you still. "You're already takin' me so fuckin' well, baby—bet you'll stretch around my dick like a dream."

He spreads his fingers, stretching you wider, dragging them back just to push in again, deeper, rougher, wetter. The slick, obscene sounds of it make heat curl in your belly, make your whole body tighten, aching, desperate.

"Fuck, you feel this?" Jason grunts, his fingers twisting, pressing, stroking in slow, teasing circles. "So tight, so fuckin' perfect—gonna ruin you, baby."

Dick presses another kiss to your lips, then another, then another, each one deeper, more desperate, more needy, because he has to. He has to taste you, has to feel you, has to lose himself in you while Jason kneels behind you, his cock hard and aching, the tip glistening as he slowly, carefully pulls his fingers out of your ass.

A low groan rumbles in his chest at the sight, his hands gripping your ass, spreading you slightly, watching the way your body twitches, the way your ass clenches, still slightly open from how deep his fingers had been.

"Relax, doll," he murmurs, his breath warm against your spine as he slicks himself up with lube, rubbing the tip of his cock against your hole, teasing, pressing just slightly to gauge your reaction.

Your whole body shudders, and Dick cradles your face, kisses you slow, deep, as he whispers against your lips, "Breathe, pretty girl. I got you."

Jason presses in. Slowly. The stretch is immediate, intense, your body clenching around him as he sinks in, inch by inch, his jaw tight as he groans, hands gripping your hips, feeling the way you shake as you adjust to the sheer size of him, to the way he's filling you.

Dick can feel it too. Your walls clenching around his cock, getting tighter just from how Jason is stretching you open, making him groan, his hands flexing against your waist.

"Fuck, baby," Jason grits out, his breath coming out shaky as he finally bottoms out, his forehead pressing against your back, his chest rising and falling in deep, heavy breaths. "You feel so fuckin' good."

You're a mess. Your breath is shaky, your pulse racing, your body overwhelmed in the best way possible, stuffed full, stretched wide, both of them inside you, filling you to the absolute brim.

Still, it's not enough. You need more. And the moment you shift, rolling your hips slightly, feeling the way it makes Jason's cock nudge deeper, Dick lets out a sharp, wrecked sound and tightens his grip on your hips.

"Hold still, love," he breathes, his voice low, strained, adjusting his grip on you, making sure you don't have to move, don't have to do anything except take it.

And you will. You'll take all of it. Because they need this just as much as you do, and neither of them can hold back much longer.

Jason exhales hard through his nose, his grip steady on your hips, his cock pulsing, buried deep inside your ass as he presses his chest flush against your back.

His lips graze your shoulder, his breath warm, voice low and gruff when he murmurs, "Good? Still with us?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, your brain foggy, words barely forming as you pant, "M-Move, please..."

Dick is the first to obey. His fingers flex at your waist, his muscles tensing beneath you as he rolls his hips up, fucking into your soaked cunt slow and deep, dragging a moan from your throat as the thick length of him stretches you open all over again.

Jason groans at the sight, at the way your tight little hole clenches around Dick's cock, the way your body shudders when Dick fills you to the hilt, rubbing against the spots that make you gasp, make you shake.

And then, Jason moves. It's slow, deliberate, his hips grinding forward, easing himself out just to push back in, filling your ass just as Dick fills your pussy, the slow stretch making your breath catch, making your fingers curl against Dick's chest.

Your mind is blank. Absolutely fucking blank. You can barely register the words Dick is whispering, his voice soft, warm, each praise making you clench down tighter, "God, sweetheart, you feel so good—so tight, so perfect—taking both of us so well, baby, so fucking good—"

His words make your breath stutter, make your walls squeeze around him, make Jason groan, his hands gripping your hips, thumbs stroking your skin as he kisses your back, your shoulders, your neck, his lips soft, reverent, even as he fucks you.

And you can barely breathe. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your body trembling as they thrust into you, stretching you, filling you, overwhelming you with the sheer amount of pleasure you're drowning in.

Jason's hand slides around you. Finds your puffy little clit. Presses down. You wail.

Your whole body jerks, your breath shattering as Jason grins against your skin, his fingers circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, slow and cruel, all while his cock grinds deep into your ass, making your walls clench around both of them.

Dick chokes on a moan, his hips jerking, his fingers digging into your waist, his cock stuffing your pussy, pushing deeper, hitting that spot that makes you keen.

Jason groans at the reaction, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, muttering, "Fuck, baby, that's it—take it—"

And you do. You take everything. The stretch, the pressure, the fullness, the filthy praise whispered into your ear, the heat of their bodies against yours. The way their cocks move inside you, making your vision swim, making your mind blank, making your whole body tremble as they keep fucking you.

And there's nothing—nothing—you want more.

Jason's fingers keep working your clit, slow and teasing one moment, rough and insistent the next, rubbing tight little circles that have your thighs trembling, your body caught between the steady drag of his cock in your ass and the deep, devastating thrusts of Dick's cock inside your pussy.

Your breath shatters, your body taut, stretched wide, so full, their cocks filling you over and over, slick and hot, the filthy sound of it echoing off the walls, slick wet noises mixing with your gasping moans, their groans, their praises.

Dick slides a hand up your waist, warm and firm, fingers trailing the sweat-slicked curves of your body, before moving higher, higher, until he cups your breast.

A strangled moan gets caught in your throat as he palms you, rolling your nipple between his fingers, his grip firm, possessive, desperate, his hips never slowing, cock driving deep, kissing your cervix with every thrust.

Jason groans behind you, his cock throbbing, pulsing inside your tight, hot ass, his grip almost bruising at your hip as he watches Dick squeeze your tits, watches how you whimper and twitch, body so fucking responsive.

"Fuckin' hell," Jason rasps, pressing his forehead against your back, panting, "You're so tight, baby—grippin' me so good—"

Dick is all needy and breathless as he mutters, "You're so perfect—so wet, so fucking soft—"

And fuck, fuck, it's too much.

Your whole body tenses, muscles coiling, pleasure spiking, your slick dripping down, coating Dick's cock, soaking his thighs, Jason's fingers still rubbing your clit, still teasing, still playing with you.

Your vision blurs, your mouth falls open in a silent moan, and then you snap. Your orgasm rips through you like a fucking supernova, a shuddering, gut-wrenching explosion of white-hot pleasure. Wave after wave crashes into you as your pussy clenches, gripping Dick's cock so tight he chokes on a groan, hips faltering, hands gripping your waist to hold you there, fuck you through it, hips rutting up in messy, desperate thrusts.

Jason curses loud and filthy, his free hand digging into your hip as your ass tightens around him, milking his cock, making him throb, his jaw clenched so tight it aches as he rubs your clit faster, dragging out your orgasm, making you whimper, tremble, shake.

"That's it, doll," Jason growls, voice rough, filled with lust, "Fuck—look at you, so fuckin' messy, so good—"

Dick is moaning beneath you, his grip on you tightening, his cock still buried deep inside your spasming cunt, still rutting up into you, and it's so much, too much, your whole body a trembling, sweaty, soaked mess.

"M-more—"

Your voice is a broken little whimper, barely a sound at all, your body hot between them, overstimulated and fucked senseless, but still, still, you beg for more.

"H-harder—fuck—p-please—"

And that's it. That's it. Jason curses under his breath, and Dick's fingers tighten on your hips as something inside them just snaps, and they ruin you.

Jason grips your waist, holding you steady as he slams into your ass, hips snapping forward with messy, needy thrusts, cock stretching you wide, stuffing you so full, his abs flexing, sweat dripping down his chest.

Dick isn't any better. He's never fucked like this before, never felt like this before, usually so careful, so sweet, because he likes making love, likes taking his time. He's usually all slow, sensual touches and soft whispers, but the pollen, the fucking pollen.

You're soaking his cock, clenching around him, your pussy hot and wet and so fucking tight, making these little whimpering sounds that make his brain short-circuit, that make him lose every single ounce of restraint.

He pounds into you, moaning, hips driving up to meet yours again and again, his mind blank, wrecked, obsessed with how you feel around him, how good you take it, how you keep begging for it.

"Yes—yes—yes—more—fuck—"

You can't stop babbling, pleading, brain melting under the push and pull of their cocks inside you, their hands gripping you, keeping you in place, using you, fucking you.

"More—more—more—"

You're whimpering, gasping, trembling, bouncing between him and Jason like you belong to them.

"F-fuck—"

Jason feels like he's burning alive, the heat of your body, the way your ass grips his cock, the way you tremble every time he fucks you deeper, the sweat dripping down his back, his chest, his hips slapping your ass, his free hand sliding up your spine, grabbing the back of your neck, squeezing just a little, just enough to make you gasp.

"Shit, baby, you're so fuckin' tight—"

And then—

"Fuck—fuck— fuck—"

Dick breaks.

His whole body tenses, back arching, muscles coiling as his cock jerks inside you, and then he's cumming, gasping, groaning, fucking his seed deep into your cunt, pumping you full, stuffing you so full, hot and thick. His arms lock around your waist, holding you down as he ruts up into you, still moving, still fucking you through it because he can't stop, can't fucking stop.

And you—

You feel it, feel the hot rush of it inside you, feel it leak out around his cock, smearing on your swollen folds, on Jason's fingers still working your clit, on his balls, sticky and messy, so fucking filthy. You love it, love the way it drips out of you, love the way Dick whimpers as he fucks through his orgasm, love the way Jason grunts behind you, voice rough, guttural.

"Christ, look at that—fuckin' drippin'—"

And he's still fucking you, still grinding against you, his cock still hard, still deep, still pounding your ass, and you whimper, still shaking, still so fucking sensitive.

Jason's fingers are merciless.

They press against your swollen, throbbing clit, slick with a mess of cum, circling it, teasing, rubbing just right.

"F-fuck, Jay, I—"

Your words break, barely more than a whimper, and Dick shifts beneath you, his hands tight on your hips, his cock still stuffed deep in your wrecked pussy, and he feels it.

He feels the way your walls are fluttering, spasming, gripping him, the way your whole body is starting to shake.

"That's it, baby, let go—"

Jason's voice is low, gravelly, and then it hits you.

A wave of white-hot pleasure, so intense, so overwhelming, your whole body tenses and breaks at the same time, back arching, mouth falling open in a silent, shattered sob as you clench around both of them, your pussy squeezing Dick so tight he groans, hips jerking, and your ass—

"Shit—fuck—"

Jason chokes on his own breath, the sudden tight, spasming grip around his cock making his rhythm stutter, making his fingers falter, making his whole body tense as heat coils low in his gut, hot and throbbing, his hips snapping forward in shallow, desperate thrusts.

"Fuck— baby—"

His hand locks onto your waist, fingers digging into your soft, sweat-slicked skin, and he buries himself deep, cock throbbing, pulsing, spilling inside you, thick and hot. He can't stop moving, can't stop grinding into you, fucking it deeper, groaning, shuddering against your back as his orgasm wrecks him.

You sob.

Not just because it's too much, not just because your body is shaking, not just because your clit is pulsing under Jason's fingers, because your pussy is still leaking cum, because your ass is stuffed with it, because the pleasure is endless.

You sob because you've never been fucked this good, because it's Dick and Jason, because your body is spent. Because you're so tired and still trembling, still whimpering as Jason finally stills behind you, followed by Dick, both of them still inside you, both of them breathing hard.

"Baby—"

Dick’s voice is so soft, and you barely register it before your body gives out, before you collapse against his chest. His arms catch you, wrap around you, hold you tight, his big, warm hands rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back as you keep sobbing, sniffling, your body twitching from the aftershocks.

"Shit—"

Jason's hands smooth down your back, his lips pressing against the curve of your spine, kissing your sweat-damp skin as he exchanges a look with Dick, something unspoken, something concerned.

"Breathe, sweetheart," Dick murmurs, tucking you closer, his lips pressing to your temple, your forehead, "You're okay. We got you."

Jason hums against your back, his hands gentle now, tracing slow, grounding touches down your waist, your sides, rubbing at your hips, pressing softer kisses against your skin.

"M'sorry—" you hiccup, voice hoarse, and Jason shakes his head, arms tightening around you.

"Nah, baby," he murmurs, "Nothin' to be sorry for."

"We got you," Dick echoes, voice still so soft, lips still brushing against your skin, still pressing slow, tender kisses over your face, "We got you, love."

And the haze of the pollen is fading, just slightly, just enough to let the exhaustion creep in, just enough to let you sink into their warmth, just enough to let you breathe.

A little sniffle escapes you, barely more than a breath, and Jason exhales, his fingers tightening on your waist before he slowly, gently pulls out. You whimper, hips twitching at the loss, and he shushes you, hands smoothing down your sides, his voice low and gruff—

"Sorry, sweetheart."

It's only then, as his head starts to clear, that he sees you, like... really sees you.

The red marks scattered across your skin, the deep, dark hickeys, the little bruises blooming where fingers had gripped too tight, where mouths had been too hungry.

And normally, Jason wouldn't care. Wouldn't think about it, wouldn't dwell. But this wasn't some random fuck. This was you. And he cares about you.

He exchanges a look with Dick, who seems to be thinking the exact same thing, but before either of them can say anything, you lift your head slightly, voice soft, drowsy, still so blissed out.

"That was... that was so..." you pause as you take a slow, heavy breath. "That was the best fuck of my life."

For a second, they're stunned. Then Jason snorts, shaking his head as his hands squeeze your hips.

"You're somethin' else, pretty girl."

You hum, then shift, sitting up on Dick, your hands steadying yourself on his chest, his cock finally softening inside you.

Dick's hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear, his gaze soft, fond, full of something warm and aching.

"You okay?"

You nod, but he tilts his head, eyes scanning your face. "You sure?"

"So fucking sure," you murmur, leaning into his palm, letting his touch ground you, soothe you.

Jason exhales, then reaches over, fingers brushing your damp, sweat-sticky hair from your shoulder before he leans in, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your skin.

They let you breathe, let you come down completely, their hands slow and gentle, smoothing over your back, your arms, grounding you with soft touches, murmured reassurances, little praises that make your stomach flip.

And then, you shift again, lifting yourself from Dick's lap, and—

Oh.

The mess is... everywhere. Your thighs are slick, cum dripping from your swollen pussy, smearing on Dick's softening cock, streaking down onto the bench beneath you, pooling on the towels.

And now that the pollen haze has lifted, now that your mind is clearer, the sight of it, the reality of it, makes your face go hot, embarrassment creeping up your spine.

They see it. They know you. Jason clicks his tongue, turns you to face him, and pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping tight around you, caging you against him.

"Don't do that shit," he murmurs, voice warm, rough, "It's fine. We'll clean up."

You bury your face in his chest, mumbling something unintelligible, and he huffs, hand smoothing down your back.

"Kinda late for that, doll."

You groan, lifting a weak arm to swat at his shoulder. "Shut up."

Dick chuckles, shaking his head as he stretches, standing from the bench, his legs shaky, his hands settling on his hips as he exhales.

"You two go ahead and clean up," he says, rolling his shoulders, "I'll handle things here."

And before you can argue, before you can say I can help or I should clean up too, he steps up behind you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder.

"Okay?"

You nod, still tucked against Jason's chest, and Dick hums, brushing his fingers down your arm before stepping away.

But before you can step away, Jason's arms tighten.

"Wait—"

Your words die in your throat as Jason lifts you, carrying you towards the showers like you weigh nothing, and normally, you'd protest.

Would roll your eyes, would shove at his shoulder, would grumble about carrying yourself. But right now, you're too fucked out to care. So you just sigh, letting your body go boneless against him, arms loosely wrapping around his shoulders as he carries you away.

Jason sets you down and turns on the water, the warm steam curling around you, soaking into your aching muscles. And the second your feet touch the tile, your knees buckle. But he's there, his hands steady on your waist, keeping you upright, and you let him.

His chest rises and falls with a slow, steady breath before he lifts one hand, cupping your face, his calloused fingers warm against your damp skin.

"You sure you're okay?"

His voice is quiet, rough around the edges, something almost hesitant underneath it.

You swallow, blinking up at him, exhaustion pulling at your limbs, your bones, every part of you. "Yeah." Your voice is soft, barely above a breath. "I just... 'm tired."

He nods. "I know."

You pout, and God, it's that little pout that always made him wanna kiss you, that always made his chest tight, even when he'd told himself not to care, even when he swore he wouldn't let it get to him.

"I wanna go home," you murmur, voice small, pleading.

His fingers tighten just slightly on your waist. "We'll take you home in a bit."

He leans in. Just a little. Just enough to brush his lips over yours—hesitant, almost unsure, because apparently, the pollen's not fucking with your heads anymore, and maybe this is where it ends, maybe this is where it stops, where everything just goes back to the way it was.

But you kiss him back. Soft, gentle, nothing like the desperate, frantic kisses from before, and his breath catches against your lips.

You pull back, barely, just enough to whisper, "Will you stay tonight?"

His brows pull together, his fingers brushing along your cheek. "Yeah, baby."

Your stomach flutters at the rasp of his voice, and you swallow, biting your lip before murmuring, "Both of you?"

He exhales, tilting his head down, brushing his nose against yours as he whispers, "Yeah. Both of us."

You nod, barely there, barely anything at all, and Jason watches you for a second, something warm, something almost uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

And then, you kiss him again. Soft, sweet, exhausted. And something about the way his lips press to yours, about the way his hand cradles your face, about the way his body relaxes against yours, even now... it feels right.

Like it was always meant to be this way.

Like something shifts inside you, deep in your chest, something small and fragile and terrifying.

Because you've had only fucked up men in your life before. Men who hurt. Men who took. Men who left nothing but bruises and scars in their wake. And now you have them—Jason, Dick—and you're scared.

Scared of losing them, scared of ruining this, scared of the ache in your chest that tells you you want them, not just like this, not just like what happened tonight, but something tells you they feel the same. Something tells you Dick feels the same. Something about the way Jason holds you now, the way he kisses you like it's not just about the fuck, like it matters, like you matter.

After cleaning up and making sure there's no evidence of what went down in the Batcave, the three of you made your way back to your apartment, exhaustion settling deep in your bones, but something warmer, something unchanged lingering between you all.

You're sprawled across your couch, tucked between two very warm, very big bodies, soaking up their heat as you all demolish a large pepperoni pizza. Because after that? After the hours of fucking, the overstimulation, the pollen that had you all wrapped up in a desperate, needy haze?

You're starving. And for once, there's no tension. No awkwardness. No 'so... what now?' kind of moment.

Just pizza. Just warmth. Just them.

Dick sits to your right, long legs stretched out, one arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers idly brushing over your shoulder as he chews, completely at ease.

And Jason's on your left, reclined, socked feet propped up on your coffee table like he owns the place, one arm resting over your thighs while the other holds his slice, chewing with that half-lidded, relaxed expression that means he's content.

And the thing is, it's not weird. It should be, right?

You just got wrecked by both of them in the Batcave of all places, and now you're here, cuddled up between them like it's nothing, like this was normal, like this was just another night of the three of you hanging out.

Except, it wasn't just another night. It was the first time you'd crossed that boundary. The first time you let yourselves give in to the tension that had always been there, just beneath the surface, lingering, waiting for something—anything—to push you all over the edge.

And it should've changed everything. But it didn't. If anything, it felt like it enhanced it.

Like something had clicked into place. Like this was always meant to happen. Dick swallows his bite, licking a bit of sauce from his thumb as he watches you from the corner of his eye. And he knows you.

He knows that little crease between your brows means you're overthinking. That the way you press your lips together means you're trying to make sense of something, trying to name whatever the hell this is, trying to define it.

And for once, you don't have to. Because he gets it. He feels it.

He'd spent years wanting you, wanting this, but never acting on it, because you were one of his closest friends, because you were one of Jason's closest friend, because the idea of losing you over some reckless decision was too much, too dangerous.

Jason snorts as you grab another slice of pizza, shoving it into your mouth like you haven't eaten in days, and he bumps his knee against yours, mumbling, "Jesus, slow down, doll. You're gonna choke."

You roll your eyes, mouth full, and mumble back, "Whose fault is that?"

Dick laughs—a soft, breathy chuckle as he leans back against the couch, his arm draped casually behind you. "She's got a point."

Jason clicks his tongue, tearing off a bite of his own pizza. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

And it's so normal. So easy. Dick can't stop thinking about it. Because this should feel different. He thought it would feel different.

That maybe things would be awkward, that maybe you'd pull away, that maybe Jason would crack some joke that would make it feel less than what it was, like it was just another fuck, another good time.

But it wasn't.

And this—this easy, quiet warmth, the way you're curled up against them like you've always belonged there, the way Jason hasn't made a single move to leave, the way he hasn't wanted to leave... it feels like something that was always meant to happen.

Because as he glances at Jason, sees the way he's watching you, the way his fingers absently trace circles into your thigh, the way he looks so calm, so sated—he knows Jason feels the same.

Jason, who for the first time in years, isn't holding himself back. Jason, who had spent the last two hours running through every memory of you in his head, trying to figure out how he went so fucking long without having you like that, how he ever convinced himself to not want you. Because he did.

And he won't fucking say it, won't admit it, won't even let the thought settle too deep in his chest, but yeah. Yeah, he feels it, too.

He watches as you swipe a thumb across your lips, catching a stray bit of sauce, your lashes fluttering with exhaustion as you sink deeper into Dick's side, and something inside him tightens.

Because this isn't just some random hookup. This isn't just some heat of the moment bullshit he can brush off and forget. This is you. And fuck, if that doesn't scare the shit out of him.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before reaching for another slice, and Dick glances at him, something knowing flickering behind those bright blue eyes.

But neither of them say anything. Because there's nothing to say. Nothing needs to be said. This was the first time the three of you crossed the boundaries of your friendship.

Dick had been standing behind you the entire time, as a couple of other knights had been—a fight was unlikely to break out this late into the arrangement, but neither party wanted to take any chances; flaunting their power as their finest stood around while they gorged themselves and spoke of people and livestocks. You almost ran the moment you were dismissed—by that point, you seldom cared about how rude you were perceived to be, you needed to be anywhere but there.

Barely a couple seconds later, you heard footsteps rush after you.

His hand gripped your waist, holding you against him, your back arched to press against him, selfishly devouring the affection and attention he showered onto you. 

“You have to be quiet, love, or they’ll hear you.” His words were soft, barely whispered against your mouth. You tried to nod, tried stifling your sounds but a soft whimper slipped past your lips when Dick rolled his hips against yours, rutting his growing bulge against your crotch. 

The next moan was muffled beneath his hand as he covered your mouth, calloused palm pressing carefully across your lower face, precious sapphire blue eyes drinking in the sight of your needy body. 

“Can you be quiet?” he whispered against your ear before he dipped down to kiss your neck, “Or do I have to keep you quiet?” You didn’t answer—couldn’t answer—you simply stared pleadingly, hips twitching in a valiant effort to not seek out the friction and pleasure you so desperately craved from him. He continued to lavish your neck, careful to not leave a single blemish on your skin, any trace of his love on you. You weren’t his to keep, to mark.

“Be good for me, love,” he continued in a low voice, unoccupied hand already shifting to start undoing your clothes, tugging fine fabrics and jewellery away from your body, until you stood completely bare in front of him. The cold air of the room made your skin prickle, while his awestruck expression made your face warm.

“Stop staring like that.”

“But you’re gorgeous.” You averted your gaze curtly, hands instinctively drifting to shield yourself from his gaze. You startled slightly when he grabbed your wrists and pulled them up above your head. “Don’t—I mean it.” He leaned down to kiss you again, his tongue pushed into your mouth, savouring any part of you he could. You tried to reciprocate as best you could, show as much love to him as he was to you but he held you down, forcing you to accept how he was cherishing you.

“Get on the bed for me?”

You made for the bed when he let you go. You heard the rustling of clothing as he began to shed his own attire—you were almost annoyed he had waited until your back was to him to start undressing but it almost instantly forgiven the moment you settled on the bed and looked up at him.

There truly was no entity prettier than Dick Grayson. You would describe his body as being carved from marble if he wasn’t so wholly warm, soft to the touch, gentle. The man you loved wasn’t a statue, he was so painfully human that your heart ached for him.

He crawled over to you, kissing you as soon as he reached you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging him down with you as you laid down.

“Comfortable?” he asked, to which you nodded and he pecked your cheek before he reached up towards your bedside table for the vial of oil. “I’ll go slow,” he promised as he kissed your cheek again. You hummed, forcing your muscles to relax in preparation—you knew it would be uncomfortable at first, but the pay off would be worth it.

You parted your legs for him, ignoring the embarrassment that flushed under your skin as he settled between them, petting your thigh was a slow hand. It slid down, fingertips brushing against your puckered hole, making you squirm slightly. For a moment, he simply continued the movement, brushing his fingers up and down your ass, letting you get used to the feeling of being touched.

It wasn’t until he heard you let out a shaky sigh that he uncorked the vial and oiled his fingers and your hole, stoppered the bottle and discarded it as soon as he was done.

“Deep breaths, baby,” he said before he pushed the first finger in. His pace was slow as he let you adjust to the foreign feeling and only when you nodded did he add a second. You squirmed under his grasp, even as his clean hand gripped your hip to keep you still and his lips kissed your shoulder and chest, distracting you from the intrusion. You muffled your moan behind your hand when he curled his fingers upwards, your eyes rolled back just the slightest bit at the unexpected pleasure.

“So good for keeping quiet, love,” Dick praised as he pushed his third finger in, immediately making you break your good behaviour, the whimper so loud he silenced it with a kiss. You panted against his lips, rolling your hips against his hand, all in an attempt for more, you needed more—even as he stretched you open deliciously over his thick fingers, you wanted him.

“Dick…”

“Okay, love, okay, just-“ he pulled his fingers out of your relaxed asshole, and found the oil as you grumbled unhappily about the loss. He chuckled softly while he slicked his cock, readying himself for you. You’d only seen his cock a handful of times, but you couldn’t deny how fascinated you found yourself every time. He was pretty, just like the rest of him was, long and slightly curved upwards and the thought of him inside you made your heart skip happily. “You know you can’t have it both ways.”

“I want you.”

“I know, love, I know,” he rested his hand on your waist as he held himself steady with the other. “Ready?” You couldn’t have nodded faster—you kissed him again as he began to slide into you, stretching you open further than his fingers had, his lips muffling every whine and whimper.

It was a long minute before he was fully seated in you, leaving you trembling and your chest heaving as you tried not to overwhelm yourself from the penetration alone.

“Are you okay?” He brushed sweaty hair out of your face before cupping your cheeks, holding you carefully as if afraid of breaking you while he waited to ravage your body.

“It’s… so much,” you mumbled as you leaned into his touch. “I’m fine, I just… I need a minute.”

”Take as long as you need,” he assured you as he brushed his thumb across your skin, resting his forehead against yours, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Those words alone made your throat close up, tears pooling in your eyes.

”Okay…” You took another minute to compose yourself before you were nodding and Dick’s languid pace began, the gentle rock of a back and forth making the tears finally fall.

He was so careful, gentle hands so painfully aware of their power but never cruel or controlling. He kissed away yours tears, holding you close as he fucked you, desperate to get as close as possible, unwilling to let go. Giving yourselves to each other before you could be torn away. 

You bit your lips, as he carved a space for himself inside your body, fucking into your loose and pliant body, groaning softly quietly while he thrust into your tight heat. Your legs clasped around his hips, the coil in your belly only tightened as he increased his pace, letting his control slip just the slightest bit to give way to the grief.

“Dick… Fuck, Dick-”

Your orgasm was drowned by tears and sobs, leaving your body shivering and sensitive. You clenched down around Dick as he followed close behind when he came inside you, claiming you without ever leaving a mark, before collapsing you. 

“I can’t do this,” you whispered. Dick made a small distressed noise as he propped himself up on his elbows to hover over you. Your hands find his face, cradling him close. “I can’t lose you.”

“Then run away with me.”

You startled at his words, mouth agape. 

“Run away with me,” he repeated, more determined this time around, confident. “My father’s estate is coastal. You can disappear before anybody realises you’re gone.”

“But, your family-“

Dick was close to his family—he wasn’t like you, he didn’t bear any resentment towards his father or siblings. He’d chosen to become a knight, to follow in his father’s footsteps. 

He had chosen his life. 

And now he was choosing you. 

“I’ll talk to them.”

“I can’t ask you to leave them.”

“You aren’t.” He pulled away, his now soft cock slipping out of you. You sat up with a wince as he knelt in front of you. “I’m offering. Run away with me, Your Highness.”

“You have to stop calling me that,” you chuckled wetly as he wiped your face. 

“Leave this place with me, love.”

Preparations didn’t take long, all things considered. The hardest part of the entire plan had been convincing your father to let you go to the Wayne Manor alone, for undisclosed business—so close to the wedding, he was reluctant; but when an urgent message from Lord Wayne himself reached the castle, there was nothing he could do but allow you to go. 

You hadn’t expected to be welcomed into the manor with such open arms; both your escorts, Sir West and Sir Harper, smiled knowingly as Mr Pennyworth ushered you in before announcing that they were taking their leave and they had absolutely no idea where you’d go after they’d turn their backs. 

Dick was tearing down the stairs before the doors even closed, and swept you into a tight hug. You embraced him, tense and awkward from the public display of affection, but you held him all the same, resting your head against his shoulder. 

“Ready to go?” he asked softly when you both parted—you only nodded as you clutched his shirt in a vice grip. Slowly, the rest of the Wayne family had begun to trickle into the main hall, standing around the two of you. “Good—Jason and Cass will accompany us across the sea, we’ll separate when we get to the other side.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. 

Before he could answer, Jason piped up, “Don’t be. He’s been miserable the moment your engagement was announced.”

“He mopes,” Cass continued, giggles and laughter spreading through the manor when Dick began to protest that he didn’t mope. 

“The ship is docked and ready for you,” Lord Wayne said as he stepped forward to place a hand on his eldest son’s shoulder. “Be careful out there.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Thank you,” you added, inclining your head ever so slightly. 

He turned to you, a small smile playing across his impassive expression. “Your Highness?”

“Yes?”

“Take care of my son.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gotham was suffocating in its usual way, cloaked in darkness but pulsing with a quiet undercurrent of energy. In the apartment, though, time moved at its own pace—slower, drawn out, deliberate. The world beyond the thick windows might have been bustling, but in here, there was only the sound of steady breathing, the subtle rustle of clothing, and the intoxicating weight of his gaze.

Richard Grayson had always been a master of silence. He was confident—no, assured—so much so that his very presence seemed to fill every inch of space. His demeanor was calm, but there was something more underneath: a palpable intensity that never fully dissipated. Tonight, it felt more like a simmering volcano ready to erupt. He stood against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you as you paced the room. The tension between you was so thick it was almost a living thing, wrapping itself around your ribs, constricting your chest.

For a moment, you caught your reflection in the window: your tousled hair, the flush on your cheeks, the way your breath had quickened since you walked in. You knew you were being affected. But Dick—He was always so unreadable. Always so in control.

And that only made the pull between you stronger.

You could feel his eyes on you, steady, unwavering, like a hunter waiting for its prey. It was infuriating, almost, how easy it was for him to get under your skin. It wasn’t just physical. It was emotional, mental—he was a challenge. Always a challenge. And you were in the mood for one tonight.

You turned, meeting his gaze, offering him a little smile that felt more like a dare than anything else. “You know, you’ve been looking at me like that all night,” you said, your voice teasing but the underlying heat undeniable. “If you keep staring at me like that, you’ll make me think you actually want something.”

Dick’s lips quirked into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He pushed off from the doorframe, crossing the space between you two effortlessly, as if he was always in motion, always just a step ahead. He stopped just in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. “Oh, I want something,” he murmured, his voice rough with an undercurrent of something darker. “I just haven’t decided if I’m letting you have it yet.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the challenge in his words. He was good—so good—at playing with you, at keeping you on edge. But you weren’t going to back down. Not tonight.

You leaned in, just close enough to feel the heat of his breath against your skin. “And if I don’t let you decide?” you whispered, fingers lightly brushing the fabric of his shirt. “What happens then?”

His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and teasing. “Then we’ll find out.”

The words were like a match to kindling. Suddenly, everything between you two exploded into an inferno. The space between you was gone in a heartbeat. Dick’s lips captured yours in a kiss that was raw, primal—a storm that had been building between you for weeks. There was no tenderness here. No soft, slow approach. He kissed you with an intensity that spoke of everything he wanted but had never asked for, everything he had been holding back. His hands cupped your face with a possessiveness that sent a thrill through you, like he was marking his territory without saying a word.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, no longer holding back the flood of desire that had been building inside of you. His hands moved down your body, pulling you closer, until there was no air left between you. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of your clothes. The roughness of his touch sent sparks through you, igniting something deep inside that made you crave more.

It wasn’t just physical, though. You could feel it in the way he held you—like he wanted to consume you, like you were both part of the same fire. You pulled him closer, hands desperately trying to remove the barrier between you—the shirts, the pants, anything to make contact, to feel him against you. There was nothing that could have stopped this—no hesitation, no second thoughts. You were both lost in this moment.

When you pulled away just enough to look at him, your chest heaving, it was only to catch your breath. But you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him—his tousled hair, the way his eyes were dark, lit with an unspoken fire. His hands rested on your hips, gripping you tightly, as if anchoring you to him. The air between you was thick, heavy with need, and yet there was something else there too—a challenge. It wasn’t enough for him to just have you. He wanted to see how far you’d let him take you.

Richard’s voice broke through the haze of desire. “You know,” he said, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes, “I like when you fight back. Makes everything more interesting.”

You smirked, the rush of adrenaline only feeding your need for him. “Who said I’m fighting?”

Dick let out a low chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “I’m not one for guessing games, you know. You either give in… or you don’t.”

The weight of his words made your pulse race even faster. His hands moved, shifting down to your waist, his fingers grazing the edge of your shirt before lifting it up, inch by inch. Every movement was calculated, deliberate. You didn’t want to break eye contact. You didn’t want to lose this power struggle.

But Richard, always a step ahead, made the decision for you. With one swift motion, he pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly aside. Your breath caught as the cool air hit your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him. His gaze was sharp, studying every inch of you as if he were savoring the moment before he made his next move.

“You’re so damn perfect,” he murmured, his voice rougher than before, filled with something darker, something hungry. His fingers traced the curve of your collarbone, down the center of your chest, and you swore your heart stopped beating for a second.

You were lost in him, completely taken in by his touch, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his body pressed against yours. The fire was burning now, out of control, and there was no going back.

“You’re not going to make me beg,” you breathed, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath your fingertips. His breath hitched, but he didn’t say anything. His eyes held yours, searching for the answer to some unspoken question.

“I don’t need you to beg,” he replied quietly, but there was a certain edge to his voice—like he was holding back just enough, giving you just enough space to make your next move. “But I’m damn sure going to make you want it.”

You were barely able to process the words before Richard kissed you again, this time harder, deeper, as if trying to erase any distance that remained between you two. You couldn’t help but respond with the same fervor, pulling him closer, your hands sliding down his toned back, feeling the warmth of his skin. Every touch was electric, sparking more fire, more heat. There was no room for anything but the need to feel each other, to lose yourself completely in the moment.

His lips trailed down your neck, the sensation of his mouth against your skin sending jolts of pleasure racing through you. “I’ve waited so long for this,” he murmured, voice rough with hunger. “You have no idea how long.”

The admission sent a thrill down your spine, but it only made you more determined to keep pushing, to keep fighting this pull between you. You kissed him harder, if only to remind him that you were in this too, that you wanted this as much as he did. That you were just as much a part of the fire that had started between you both.

His hands moved once more, now pulling you closer, lifting you slightly to allow him to press deeper against you. It was a slow burn, but it was building to something that neither of you could hold back. There was no stopping now. No hesitation. Just the steady rhythm of your heartbeats, syncing together in the heat of the moment.

Dick, ever the master of control, let his hands slide lower, tracing the curve of your body, testing the limits of your patience. “You’re not getting away that easy,” he growled, his lips grazing your ear.

“No one’s trying to get away,” you whispered back, breathless, surrendering completely to the pull between you. You had never been more sure of anything in your life than you were in this moment, in this fire that neither of you could stop from burning brighter.

The room seemed to pulse with the thrum of your heartbeats, the silence between kisses louder than anything either of you could say. Every touch, every word, felt loaded with more meaning than the last. Dick’s hands were everywhere, exploring the curve of your back, the outline of your shoulders, the place where your neck met your collarbone. It was slow, agonizingly slow, the way he traced the path of his fingers as if savoring every inch of your skin.

But it wasn’t just physical—it was something deeper. Something that couldn’t be put into words.

There was a history between you two that stretched far beyond the walls of this apartment. There was the teasing, the tension that had been building for months, the stolen glances and the fleeting touches that left you both wondering what it would be like if you didn’t hold back. Tonight, it felt like everything had led to this. All the subtle moments, all the charged silences—it was all culminating in this single, undeniable need.

You pulled back slightly, breath coming in shallow gasps, looking at him, really looking at him. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide with desire, but there was still something behind them. Something deeper. A vulnerability, a rawness that made your chest tighten. You knew this wasn’t just about the physical. This was Richard Grayson, the boy who had spent his life hiding behind layers of jokes and smirks, afraid to let anyone see the cracks. But tonight, with you, all the walls were coming down.

“I think I might be losing control,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, raw. He had always been in control—of his body, his thoughts, his emotions. But right now, in this moment, that control was slipping. And that truth, coming from him, made your pulse spike.

“You’re not the only one,” you replied, your voice a breathless whisper, a challenge in the words. “But maybe it’s time to stop pretending we don’t want this.”

Dick leaned in, his forehead pressing gently against yours, the distance between your bodies nearly unbearable. His hands were still roaming, but now they were gentle, almost reverent, as if unsure whether you would pull away. His lips brushed against your skin, soft at first, then with more force, as if claiming you, taking what he had been craving for so long. The air was thick with desire, suffocating, but neither of you cared.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your jawline, your chest—and each kiss sent a jolt of warmth coursing through your veins. The way he moved against you was perfect—controlled yet demanding, like a dance you had both been practicing without realizing it. The way his hands found the curve of your hips, pulling you closer, reminding you that this wasn’t just a moment—it was the beginning of something far deeper.

You gasped when his lips found their way to the sensitive skin just below your ear, his breath warm against your flesh. His voice was low, barely above a whisper. “Do you want me to stop?”

You wanted to laugh—wanted to tease him, tell him that if he stopped now, it would only make everything worse. But the words didn’t come. Instead, you pulled him closer, your hands gripping the back of his neck, pushing him further into the kiss. “No,” you breathed, your voice trembling. “Keep going.”

And he did.

Dick’s hands were on your waist again, pulling you against him, lifting you effortlessly until you were pressed up against him fully, the hard line of his body grinding against yours. The feeling sent a wave of heat through your body, and you could feel the desire in every inch of him. The urgency, the need—he was just as consumed by this as you were.

The kiss deepened, and the world outside seemed to vanish entirely. There was only Dick—his lips, his hands, his body—everything else faded away. It was as though the universe had narrowed down to this single point in time, this moment where nothing mattered except the feeling of him against you, inside you.

And still, there was a push and pull, a tension between you both, like neither of you wanted to give in completely. Like neither of you wanted to be the first to lose yourself.

But he wasn’t backing down, and neither were you.

The coolness of the room seemed to disappear as the temperature between you soared. Dick’s hands roamed lower, and you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips as his fingers brushed against the waistband of your pants.

“You sure about this?” he asked again, the question more of a dare than a hesitation. He wasn’t asking for permission. He was testing boundaries, pushing to see just how far you’d let him take it. And that was part of the allure, the game you were playing with him.

You gave him no answer, just a kiss that was filled with the promise of everything you both wanted. Your body moved instinctively against his, hands working to undo the belt at his waist, eyes never leaving his. It was a game now—no words, just touch. Just the urgency of wanting more.

Dick let out a breath, a shaky exhale as you pushed his shirt off, feeling the coolness of the room meet the heat of his skin. His body was just as solid, just as sculpted as you had imagined. There was nothing between you now. No distance, no walls. Just skin against skin, breath against breath.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he muttered against your neck, his voice thick, almost pleading. There was nothing composed left in him, nothing calculated.

“Good,” you whispered back. “I like it when you’re lost.”

The words hung between you like a challenge. And this time, he didn’t hesitate. He didn’t pull back. Dick’s hands slid under your pants, pulling them down, the rough fabric brushing your skin before falling to the floor. The urgency in his movements mirrored your own, both of you so desperate to close the gap, to feel the friction, to feel something real.

His lips found yours again in a kiss that felt too good to be true, and yet here you were, tangled together, both of you burning with an intensity that could not be ignored. Every touch seemed to make the world outside fade further, until there was nothing left except this.

Dick’s hands explored your body, sending shivers down your spine, and you could feel the same heat rising in him. His breath was ragged now, his chest moving against yours with each shaky inhale.

“I want you,” he murmured, his lips tracing the outline of your jaw. “Now.”

And something inside you snapped. The control you had tried to maintain, the teasing, the back-and-forth—it was all gone. You were both past that point now, past the games. This was no longer a test, no longer a challenge. This was just raw, undeniable need.

You pulled him closer, your body arching into his as he leaned down to kiss you once more, this time with all the force of everything that had been building between you two. Your fingers worked quickly, pulling at the last of the clothing between you, and within seconds, there was nothing left but the heat of his skin against yours.

Dick groaned, a sound so low and rough that it vibrated through you, igniting something deep inside. He was all muscle and heat, his hands guiding you, pulling you closer as if trying to bury himself inside you completely. You didn’t want to fight anymore. You didn’t want to hold back. You just wanted to feel him. To lose yourself completely.

And just like that, there was no more space between you.

The rest of the world faded away. The chaos of Gotham, the noise, the pressure—it all disappeared into the background. There was only Richard, only the way his body felt against yours, the way his touch made your heart race, the way he moved inside you.

And it was everything you had imagined, everything you had wanted, and yet it still felt too much to handle. Every kiss, every touch, every movement was an endless spiral of pleasure, leaving you both gasping for more, always wanting more.

When you finally reached the peak, your bodies entwined, lost in each other, it was like the world had finally fallen into place. It wasn’t just about the physical release. It was about everything else—the desire, the tension, the emotions that neither of you had dared to acknowledge until now.

As your bodies slowly began to relax, Dick collapsed next to you, his hand gently brushing through your hair, his fingers caressing the skin of your shoulder.

“That…,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, “was insane.”

You smiled, your body still humming with energy, still alive from the fire he had sparked within you. “Yeah,” you breathed

His lips curved into a smile that was half amusement, half challenge. “I didn’t think you were the type to play fair.”

“Who said anything about playing fair?” you whispered, your hand brushing his chest.

And as you both lay there, entangled in the aftermath, the fire between you hadn’t burned out yet. The air between you two was still charged, as if every breath you took was laced with electricity. Richard’s chest rose and fell under your touch, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. His touch, though gentle now, still felt like an anchor, holding you to the present. To him. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and satisfaction, but there was something in his gaze that didn’t quite fade. A hunger, still simmering beneath the surface, ready to ignite again at a moment’s notice.

You shifted, pressing closer into his side, your head resting against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you instinctively, drawing you nearer. The space between you, that once-feared distance, was gone—replaced by something far more intoxicating.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook yet,” you whispered, a teasing lilt in your voice as you ran your fingers along his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch. “I’m not done with you.”

Dick chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated in his chest, sending a fresh wave of warmth through your body. His fingers trailed lazily up and down your spine, like he was marking every inch of you. “I’m starting to think I’ve unleashed a monster,” he said, a mix of amusement and something else in his tone—something darker, more playful.

“A monster?” You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “I was just getting started.”

He turned his head to look at you, his expression soft but with a wicked gleam in his eye. “I know,” he said, his voice a velvet whisper. “But don’t think you can win every round. You’ve got a lot to prove if you want me to keep up with you.”

That spark of competition flared between you two once more, this unspoken challenge hanging in the air, thick with anticipation. Neither of you was ever one to back down, especially when the stakes were so high. The adrenaline from your previous encounter hadn’t fully dissipated, and now, in the stillness of the room, it simmered beneath the surface, waiting for the next spark.

“I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” you responded, your fingers trailing down his torso, feeling the tense muscles beneath his skin.

Dick’s hand gripped your wrist gently, but there was a hint of firmness to it, grounding you, forcing your attention to shift back to him. “You know I’m always up for a challenge,” he murmured, his lips barely brushing against yours, as if he was offering you an invitation, one he knew you wouldn’t refuse.

It was like you’d been waiting for this moment, for him to pull you back in, for the next round to begin. You could feel the shift in the energy between you, like a switch had been flipped. Everything about this—about him—was unpredictable, and that was part of what made him so intoxicating. Richard Grayson wasn’t someone who let you get too comfortable. He kept you on your toes, always.

Before you could respond, he was kissing you again, his lips pressing with a new intensity, his hands pushing you back against the pillows. The air around you both was thick with urgency, and this time, you didn’t bother with the teasing. You met him with the same fire, the same raw desire. There was no more waiting. No more holding back. You needed him, needed to feel the heat of him again, and he was right there, just as eager.

His hands roamed again, possessive but gentle, as if trying to memorize the curve of your body, each touch making you ache for more. His lips found your neck, and you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped your lips, the sound only fueling the fire that was building between you two.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin as his lips grazed your collarbone. It wasn’t a demand, but a claim, a promise—one that wrapped itself around you, binding you to him in a way that felt like home and like a spark about to catch fire all at once.

You closed your eyes, letting the words wash over you, feeling the possessive edge in his tone go straight to your core. “I’m yours?” you asked, voice breathless, a little amused, a lot breathless.

His eyes met yours, and there was no joking in his gaze now—only something fierce, something raw, something that made your heart stutter. “You know it. And you’re not getting away anytime soon.”

You didn’t need to respond. You couldn’t. Words weren’t enough to explain the way your body responded to him, the way every inch of you burned with desire when he was close. Every breath, every touch, every second of this was more than you had imagined—more than you had hoped for.

The world outside the room didn’t exist anymore. There were no responsibilities. No distractions. There was only Richard Grayson and you, a connection that felt like it was unspoken but understood in every movement. You moved with him, against him, in perfect synchronization. The tension between you two didn’t let up. If anything, it intensified as he pressed you further into the bed, his body a weight above you, yet not oppressive, just right. The intensity of the moment made your pulse quicken. This was it. This was what you had both been craving, whether you’d admitted it to yourselves or not.

His lips were back on yours, soft, yet demanding, like he couldn’t get enough of you. His hands gripped your hips as he shifted his weight, sliding his body against yours with a fluid, practiced ease that made everything inside you tighten. His kiss deepened, more urgent this time, and you could feel his heartbeat matching yours, the rhythm of it like a drum, calling you to follow.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed against his lips, unable to stop yourself from pulling him closer.

And he didn’t. He kept going, every movement more desperate than the last, a steady push and pull between you two that was almost hypnotic. The heat between you two was unbearable now, and there was no way either of you could escape it. No way you’d ever want to.

Every inch of your body ached for him, every touch igniting a fire that could only be doused by him. His hands were everywhere, pressing you closer, lifting you just enough to feel the full length of him against you, driving you to madness with every movement.

You arched into him, your body a tangled mess of want and need, and the moment you felt him inside you again, it was like all the pieces finally clicked into place. He groaned against your lips, and the sound only made you more desperate, more hungry for him. The rhythm between you was perfect, like an unspoken dance that neither of you wanted to end.

It was no longer about teasing, no longer about waiting—it was just pure, unfiltered connection, every sensation heightened, every breath taken with a new sense of urgency. The tension that had been simmering for so long finally erupted in a wave of release, and the world outside ceased to matter once more.

As you both collapsed together, breathless and tangled in the sheets, Dick held you tightly, his arms wrapping around you like a shield, as if protecting you from the rest of the world. His lips brushed against your forehead, soft and tender now, the heat of your connection still lingering between you.

“I wasn’t lying,” he whispered, his voice low and soft. “You’re mine now. And I’m not letting go.”

it feels like a dream. the warmth of his body weight between your legs as he pushes your back into the mattress, combined with the heady feeling of pain? pleasure? that’s flooding your senses. you know how you got here at least. you know who you are, where you are (in your bed, in your apartment) you know who the mayor is, who’s on top of you (nightwing) but still. something about it feels out of your grasp, your willpower melting into something syrupy that’s no doubt making your blood taste even better, you can only guess. your limbs feel heavy, detached from your body, and you feel your pulse at your neck, where nightwing’s lips are suctioned, his teeth deep in your vein. you’re happy to help him—he helped you, after all.

the cold metal of a blade presses into your neck, and you feel fear. you’re hot, so hot, but chills run up and down your body every time you (barely) exhale (not wanting to move an inch) and you know your hands are cold, clammy. this asshole probably just wants your bag, your wallet, your keys with the charms attached. (and you’d been willing to give it to him too.) but as nightwing hopped down from his perch on the nearest fire escape, you’d been pulled into the thief’s defensive position, a knife at your neck. nightwing, light on his feet like a ballet dancer, had been creeping closer towards you, ever-so-slowly. the man you were being pressed against was getting more frantic, you could feel it, and nightwing made his maneuver: getting his stick into the crook of the man’s knife holding elbow, yanking his arm away from you. in the process, the blade broke skin, and you felt the warmth of your blood start to ooze down your neck. you slap a hand to it, hurriedly pawing through your bag for a handkerchief. you’re aware of nightwing fighting the crook, the muffled sounds of their scuffle registering in your ears. metal on metal clangs as his knife is knocked to the concrete, and you hear nightwing mutter directions to his location into his earpiece, the white eyes of his domino mask narrowed as he looks at you.

you’re not sure how he knew where you lived, but you’re there, and you know he sees the pleading look in your eyes. you feel indebted to him, you were beginning to see your life flash before your eyes. adrenaline was coursing through your body, pounding through your veins, pushing blood out of the barely-there cut in your neck. you’d blinked, and ended up under him on your bed, his large hand cradling your head as he softly set you down.

it’s barely a pinch, barely a pinch when his teeth break skin, the area already numb. he’d lapped his pink tongue over the dark, drying blood on your neck, a spark igniting low in your belly.

you can feel his hard length rocking against the heat of your own crotch, the need for more radiating from the both of you, something palpable, solid. he moans into the crook of your neck, where his teeth are latched, and the warm breath across your flushed skin feels sinful, inviting. you wrap your otherwise idle hands around his torso, his strong, defined torso. the need for him grows stronger as his hips continue to rock against yours.

“n-nightwing, i—”

he sticks his gloved, blue middle and ring fingers in your mouth, and you leave them soaking, moaning around their weight on your tongue. you’re stammering out what’s probably a question, a ‘please,’ pathetic begging. he knows what you need, and he’s tracing the waistband of your underwear under your pants, the sensation heightened from his mouth on your neck. he reaches up to cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb across the flushed skin. he lifts his head, and you don’t feel his teeth leave your neck, but you feel empty, so empty, whining as he nods at you, so sympathetic. you roll onto your belly, up onto your elbows. as he looks down at you, humming with approval. a shiver starts up your legs, happy to please, and he notes it, leaning farther over you.

“you sat like a dream for me, pretty girl.”

he brushes a hair out of your face as you look back at him. the sight of you on your belly under him, big eyes looking into his, sends his cock jerking. but instead, he sighs. he was so hasty. so pathetic for the way the crimson of your blood, your wound, was highlighting the curve of your sweet neck. his actions have been very, very unlike him. so impolite, so improper.

“i would like to apologize for earlier, and ask you directly this time. do i have your permission to penetrate you?”

you giggle, feeling a little delirious.

“of course, of course!”

he smiles, slight but warm, at your eager tone. before you know it, the top half of his blue and black suit is off, revealing a highly chiseled body that makes your throat suddenly very, very dry. he rubs a warm hand on your back, pulling your underwear down to bare his teeth at your bared skin. supple, soft. you squirm a little, feeling exposed, when nightwing grabs a handful. looking very pleased, he leans over you, nibbling at your ear while he nestles his length in your crevice. his weight on you feels amazing, like nothing you’ve ever felt before. you no longer feel the frantic adrenaline tensing through your body like it had been twenty minutes prior. nightwing licks a stripe across your throat, and you moan involuntarily, shivering as he blows a cool stream right where his tongue had touched.

he grips into the meat of your ass, pushing up to expose your dripping cunt. nightwing slides a finger through your folds, his adam's apple bobbing as he realizes how wet you are for him.

he sits back, quickly pulling his pants off, exposing exactly what you’d been feeling. the tip a pretty pink, it’s shiny, gleaming with pre as he takes himself in his hand, pumping once, twice. you can’t believe your eyes: nightwing almost seems shy when he realizes you’re looking back, watching him. his cheeks are pink under his dark domino mask. it’s all you can do not to tackle him and take him on the floor of your apartment. he must see the look in your eyes, because he’s back over you in a flash, thick forearms bracketing your head. you lift your hips up, and he spreads your legs farther, holding out his hand to you.

“spit.”

you blink at him, but you comply, and he strokes your saliva along his cock before lining his tip up with your entrance. he pushes in slowly, such a gentleman, watching your reaction very closely as he gives you time to adjust. one of his hands snakes over, lacing his fingers with yours as you take a deep breath, nodding for more. he gives it to you, slowly, so slowly, until he’s seated to the hilt.

his teeth are latched back onto your neck, flames are licking up your spine. you’ve had sex before, sure, but this is different. very, very different. his hips are snapping into yours as you moan into his arm. you feel so full, his cock somehow stuffed into your hole as his teeth siphon blood from your neck. you lean your head back, barely able to squeak out a sentence.

“‘m close, nightwing—” his pace starts faster, the bed creaking with the force of his weight pounding into you, pounding you farther into the mattress. pleasure shoots from your head to your toes, the wave threatening to crest as he slows down (tease!) just to start up again, repeating the rhythm until you feel it, your toes curling. you cry out, nightwing sighing happily into the crook of your neck as you shake under him, coming apart from his ministrations.

your vision completely whites out, ecstasy vibrating through your limbs.

he sits back, his cum painting your dimpled lower back. his flushed cheeks and chest send your heart aflutter, watching him with your eyes half shut.

“did so, so well for me, darling.” he purrs.

you point him in the direction of the bathroom, and after helping to clean you up too, nightwing joins you in bed. he holds you close, an arm tucked around your middle.

coming from just penetration alone is very new for you.. but so is sex with a vampire. you never saw his full face, but you never needed to. he gave you something you never knew you needed, and held you afterwards like you’re something precious to him. the strong presence of his body at your back is so reassuring, exhaustion and peace weighing down your bones until you’re asleep in his arms.

a rose is on your bedside table, your companion from last night long gone. you’re not sure how he got out. your front door is locked, as are all your windows, but you don’t think about it too hard. you probably shouldn’t think about him too hard either.

Dick shouldn’t want you.

It’s wrong.

It’s not just the family thing—though, God, that alone should be enough to keep his hands off you—it’s the fact that you are Bruce’s daughter. The man who saved him. The man who raised him. The man who gave him everything when he had nothing.

And yet, here he is, watching you.

He doesn’t mean to. He swears he doesn’t. But you make it impossible not to look. Not when you walk around the manor in nothing but those tiny little shorts that barely cover anything, your shirt riding up to tease the barest hint of skin.

You do it on purpose. You must.

Because every time you catch him staring, you smile—all soft, all knowing—and it makes something dark coil in his gut.

He tells himself it’s just lust. Just temptation. That if he ignores it, it will go away.

But it doesn’t.

It gets worse. So much worse.

Because you’re cruel.

You push him. You tease him. You taunt him.

Like last week, when Bruce was out on League business, and it was just you and Dick alone in the manor. You had walked into the kitchen, wearing one of his old shirts—his—the hem just barely brushing your thighs. No shorts. No bra. Just you, all soft and warm and so fucking tempting, stretching in front of him with a lazy little smirk.

And the worst part? You acted innocent.

“Oh? Are you blushing, Dick?” Your voice had been sickly sweet, your eyes brimming with amusement as you sauntered past him, brushing against his side like it was nothing. “I didn’t know you were so easy to fluster.”

He had gritted his teeth and forced himself to look away, fingers curling into fists, nails digging into his palms.

Because if he didn’t—if he let himself slip, even for a second—he would do something unforgivable.

And you know it.

That’s the worst part.

You know exactly what you do to him. You know how hard it is for him to keep control.

And you love it.

You push and push and push, testing him, daring him to snap.

And God help him, he’s so close.

The first time Bruce brought Dick home, you were not happy.

You were young—only about a year younger than him—but old enough to know what this meant.

Your father, your Batman, was bringing home another child.

A boy.

A boy who had just lost everything.

A boy who would now be living in your home, sitting at your table, training with your father.

You had stood on the grand staircase, arms crossed, lips pressed together as Alfred guided the quiet, wide-eyed boy through the manor doors. He looked small, his blue eyes dull with grief, his shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself invisible.

You should have felt bad for him.

You really should have.

But at the time, all you saw was a stranger stepping into your world.

Bruce placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his voice quiet but steady. “This is your home now, Richard.”

Richard.

You tested the name in your mind, turning it over, before your father turned his gaze to you.

“Go on,” Bruce said, nodding toward the boy. “Say hello.”

You didn’t want to.

But under your father’s stare, you sighed and reluctantly walked down the stairs.

Richard lifted his head, his blue eyes locking onto yours.

You were prepared for awkwardness, for silence, maybe even resentment from him.

But instead—

He smiled.

Small, tentative.

But real.

And for some reason, it made your heart stumble.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice hoarse, uncertain. “I’m Richard.”

You looked at him for a long moment before finally muttering, “I know.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to laugh. Like he already found you funny.

It was annoying.

And yet… something about it warmed you.

At first, you refused to accept him.

Dick was everywhere, slipping into places that had once been yours alone.

Bruce took him to train.

Bruce took him on patrol.

Bruce cared about him.

And it made something ugly coil in your chest.

You hated that you felt jealous, but you did.

Because before Dick, it had always been you and Bruce. Even if Bruce was distant, even if he was never the perfect father, he had still been yours.

You avoided him around the manor, shot down Alfred’s attempts to get you to play nice, and scoffed when Bruce started training him—giving him a place in your world, like it was nothing.

But Dick was… persistent.

He didn’t get mad when you ignored him. He didn’t complain when you rolled your eyes at his jokes.

If anything, he seemed amused.

And worse—he kept trying to be your friend.

He’d find you in the library and poke at your shoulder until you finally looked up.

“Whatcha reading?”

“Go away.”

“I don’t think I’ve read that one before. Is it good?”

“Are you deaf?”

“…Is that a yes?”

You’d glare at him. He’d just grin back.

You hated how unbothered he was.

But somehow, little by little, he wore you down.

The first time you truly laughed with him was late one night in the kitchen.

Alfred had already gone to bed, Bruce was off on patrol, and you had crept downstairs for a midnight snack.

And apparently, so had Dick.

You caught each other in the dimly lit kitchen, both freezing, staring at one another like two criminals caught in the act.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then—

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he whispered, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

You narrowed your gaze.

Then sighed. “Fine.”

That was the night you bonded over stolen cookies, whispered jokes, and laughter muffled behind your hands.

That was the night you realized something.

You liked having him around.

And maybe—just maybe—having a brother wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Then, little moments started to chip away at your walls.

One night, you had been training alone in the manor gym, taking out your frustration on a punching bag when you suddenly lost your balance and stumbled—falling hard against the mat.

You hissed, pressing a hand to your ankle, pain flaring up your leg.

And before you could even process it, he was there.

Dick had been watching from the doorway—silent, unnoticed—but now he was crouching beside you, concern clear in his blue eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice soft, careful.

You swallowed your pride and muttered, “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe you.

Without a word, he reached out and gently took your ankle in his hands, his touch careful but firm as he checked for injuries.

You tensed. “I said I’m fine—”

“Just shut up for a second,” he said, rolling his eyes but still smiling.

You blinked.

It was the first time he had ever talked back to you.

And for some reason… it made your chest feel warm.

After a moment, he let go and leaned back on his heels. “It’s not swollen. You’ll live.”

You scowled. “Gee, thanks, doctor.”

He grinned, and you hated that you almost smiled back.

After that, things changed.

You found yourself talking to him more, sitting next to him at meals, even training together in the gym.

And it wasn’t awful.

He made things easier.

He made you laugh.

And for the first time in a long time… you didn’t feel so alone.

Then your birthday came.

You didn’t expect much. You never did.

Bruce had never been the type to make a big deal out of birthdays.

He’d get you something practical—a new weapon, an upgrade to your suit, maybe a rare book you mentioned once in passing.

Alfred would bake a cake, wish you a proper happy birthday, and that would be it.

But that year… something was different.

You woke up to balloons tied to your chair at breakfast.

A handmade banner hanging in the dining room.

And a small, neatly wrapped box placed in front of your plate.

You stared at it, then turned to Alfred.

He just smiled knowingly and nodded toward Dick.

You blinked, finally looking at him.

Dick was watching you nervously, his fingers tapping the table like he was waiting for your reaction.

“I, uh… I know you don’t really do birthdays,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I figured, you know… maybe this year could be different.”

Your chest felt tight.

Slowly, carefully, you reached for the box and unwrapped it.

Inside was a bracelet—simple, black, woven with thin silver threads. Hand-braided. Slightly uneven.

You lifted it, your throat suddenly dry. “You made this?”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. It’s, um… kinda stupid, but I wanted to make you something instead of just buying something.”

You didn’t know what to say.

No one had ever done something like this for you before.

Your fingers curled around the bracelet, and for the first time, your voice softened.

“…Thank you.”

Dick’s entire face lit up.

And for the first time since he arrived at the manor, you realized something terrifying.

You didn’t just like him.

You needed him.

You nod, and with that, he kicks up the stand, rolls out of the garage, and then, you're flying. The wind rushes past you as he speeds through the quiet, empty streets, the city still and half-asleep at this hour, Gotham's usual chaos simmered down to a rare kind of peace. Streetlights flicker past, casting long, golden streaks over the road, and the further he takes you from the towering skyline, the calmer you feel.

You press your cheek against his back, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, and when he feels it, he squeezes your thigh gently, his voice warm, teasing.

"You fall asleep on me, baby?"

You smile, shaking your head. "No."

"Good." He speeds up a little, the deep purr of the engine vibrating beneath you, and it makes you hold onto him a little tighter, makes your fingers press a little firmer against his stomach. "Almost there."

You don't ask where—he always finds the best places. The hidden little spots tucked away from the city's noise, where the sky stretches wide and the night feels softer, quieter. And true to form, after a few more turns, he pulls onto a secluded overlook, the kind of place that feels secret, like it belongs only to the two of you.

When the bike rumbles to a stop, he kills the engine, kicking the stand down, and as the quiet settles, you take a slow breath, letting it fill your lungs. The air is cooler here, cleaner, untouched by Gotham's usual smog, and in the distance, the lights of the city twinkle faintly against the horizon. It's beautiful.

Dick shifts, glancing back at you with a small smile. "Better?"

You nod. "Yeah."

He watches you for a second, his gaze flicking over your face like he's making sure, like he's double-checking that the tension that had been keeping you up is really gone. And then—he turns fully, swinging his leg off the bike, reaching for you.

"C'mere, love."

You let him help you off, let him pull you close, his hands finding your waist as he leans back against the bike, guiding you between his legs. And for a moment, neither of you say anything. You just stand there, his warmth against you, your arms resting over his shoulders as the night stretches around you.

Then—softly, like it's instinct—he leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You hum, tilting your head just slightly, teasing. "That's all?"

His hands tighten at your waist, just a little. "That depends."

"On?"

"If you want more."

And oh, you do. So you kiss him, deep and unhurried, sinking into the press of his lips, the slow drag of his mouth over yours. His hands move, one sliding up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, while the other settles lower, gripping your hip, keeping you close.

You melt against him, letting your fingers scrape up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips, his body tensing under your touch. And fuck—you don't miss the way his grip tightens on you, the way his fingers flex like he's trying to keep himself in check, trying not to pull you in even closer, trying not to let himself get too lost in you.

But you want him lost. So you shift, pressing yourself against him fully, pressing your thighs between his, pressing your chest to his, pressing your mouth harder against his until his restraint starts to slip, until that soft, teasing kiss turns into something else, something heavier.

And then—

Oh, then he's kissing you like he means it. Like he needs it. It's hungrier now, deeper, his tongue sliding past your lips, his hands tightening at your waist, his body shifting, pushing up against you like he can't help himself. And God, you feel it—the heat rolling off him, the way his breath comes a little faster, the way his hips shift ever so slightly against yours, slow, testing, like he's gauging your reaction.

And when you sigh against his lips, letting your nails drag down the back of his neck, he makes a low, rough sound in response, his grip on you tightening, his mouth pressing harder, deeper, hungrier. It's not enough. You need more.

And from the way his hands start to roam, the way his hips press forward just a little more insistently, the way he kisses you like he's about to devour you whole—

So does he. You feel him.

The thick press of him, hard and throbbing against you, even through the layers of clothes between you. The heat of his body, the way his hands slide lower, fingers gripping at your ass, pulling you closer, pressing you tighter against him. And fuck—he groans when you grind against him, when your hips roll just slightly, when you suck on his tongue, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

It's messy, hot and wet, your mouth moving over his, his fingers flexing against you, like he's barely holding on, like he's losing himself in the way you kiss him, in the way you push against him, in the way you sigh into his mouth like you need this just as much as he does.

And then—he pulls back, just barely, just enough to catch his breath, his lips slick, his pupils blown wide, his voice a little hoarse as he murmurs, "Do you wanna turn back?"

You shake your head immediately. And really—he should've known.

Because you're his wild girl, his reckless girl, the one who never holds back when you want something, the one who doesn't care who might see when you're desperate for him, the one who looks at him like you could eat him whole and wouldn't even mind if someone caught you in the act.

And right now, looking at you, seeing the hunger in your eyes, the heat in your flushed cheeks, the way your lips are still parted, still slick from kissing him—

Who the fuck is he to say no to you?

So he doesn't. He just slides one hand down, slow and deliberate, slipping behind you, fingers brushing over the curve of your ass, then lower, between your legs.

A sharp, shallow breath leaves you when he finds your pussy, rubbing you through your leggings, pressing his fingers against the damp fabric, feeling just how fucking wet you already are.

"Shit," he exhales, low and rough, his forehead dropping against yours, his lips brushing against your mouth as he groans. "You're soaked, baby."

And you are. Just from kissing him.

Just from the way he touches you, the way he sounds, the way he looks at you like he's barely holding himself back. It should be embarrassing, how easy it is for him, how it doesn't matter that it's been years since you've been together—he still turns you on like crazy, still gets you dripping before he even really touches you, still makes your body react like it's the first time, every fucking time.

And when he presses his fingers a little firmer, rubbing you through the damp cotton, you can't help it—you moan softly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, your hands clutching at his shirt, your breath coming a little faster, a little heavier. Dick groans, his hips shifting, his cock pressing harder against your stomach, and fuck—you want him. You need him.

So you slip a hand between your bodies, pressing your palm against his dick through his sweatpants, rubbing him, feeling how thick and hard he is, how he twitches under your touch, how his breath shudders just slightly when you wrap your fingers around him, squeezing just a little.

A heavy sigh leaves him, low and throaty, his hips pushing into your hand, his fingers pressing harder against your pussy, rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clothed clit.

Your breath shudders as he slides his hand into your leggings, slipping past the waistband, past the thin lace of your panties, straight to your dripping cunt. His fingers brush through the slick mess between your legs, slow and teasing, just barely grazing your entrance, just enough to have you gasping, to have your hips twitching forward, desperate for more.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice low and rough against your ear, fingers spreading through your wetness, gathering it up, smearing it over your clit in slow, lazy circles. "You're so fucking wet for me, baby."

You whimper, clutching at his arms, your legs going a little weak as he finally presses one thick finger inside you, sinking deep, curling just slightly.

"Jesus," he groans, his lips dragging over your cheek, over your jaw, his breath heavy, his cock twitching against your stomach. "You're fucking dripping."

And you are.

You're soaked, so wet he slides in easily, so turned on you can feel yourself squeezing around him already, so desperate you barely think before you murmur, "I need you inside me, baby."

That does it.

His breath hitches, his grip on you tightening for a split second before he snaps, voice rough as he growls, "Bend over the bike."

And you don't even hesitate. You turn, your body moving before your mind catches up, hands pressing against the seat as you arch your back, offering yourself up to him.

His breath shudders out, rough and uneven, and his hands are on you immediately—gripping your hips, smoothing up your sides.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and coaxing. "Bend over a little more for me... yeah, just like that. Spread your legs, let me see you."

You do as he says without hesitation, shifting, arching deeper, pressing your palms against the seat as you widen your stance. His hands guide you, thumbs stroking over your skin, voice warm and approving.

"Perfect," he breathes, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pressing your legs open a little more. "Knew you'd listen so good for me, baby. Always so good."

But then—

Dick steps behind you, his fingers curling into the waistband of your leggings and panties, yanking them down to your knees in one smooth motion, exposing you to the cool night air. His hands slide up the back of your thighs, spreading your legs a little wider, guiding you, making sure you're exactly how he wants you.

And you expect him to fuck you. You expect him to grab your hips, line himself up, push inside you, give you exactly what you're aching for. But instead, he pauses, and you hear his breath hitch. And then—

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, voice strained, like he's just seen the most tempting thing in the world.

You shift slightly, glancing over your shoulder, lips parting to ask what's wrong, but—

"Dick..." you murmur.

"I wanna taste you, baby," he rasps.

And then, he's on his knees. Before you can say anything, before you can even process it, his hands are gripping your ass, spreading you open, and then his tongue is on you, hot and wet, licking straight through your folds.

"Oh—fuck," you gasp, your fingers clenching around the seat, your thighs trembling as he buries his face between your legs, licking deep, slow, dragging his tongue over your cunt like he's starving for it.

And he is. He's losing his fucking mind.

Because you're soaked, so warm, so fucking sweet on his tongue, and the way you moan, the way you arch into it, the way you give yourself to him so easily—

It drives him insane.

His grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your ass, pulling you open even wider as he licks deeper, his tongue flicking against your clit, then dipping back up, fucking into your pussy, tasting everything you have to give him.

You're moaning, gasping, pushing back against his mouth, and fuck—he loves this.

Loves how desperate you sound, loves how your thighs tremble, loves how messy and filthy and fucking perfect you are like this.

And he's so good. Better than anyone you've ever had. Because he knows exactly how to eat pussy, knows exactly how to make you fall apart, knows exactly when to press his tongue against your clit, when to push it inside you, when to suck, when to go slow, when to speed up—

And right now? Right now, he's making you fucking lose it.

You can feel it, the heat coiling in your stomach, the tension winding tight, your body tensing up as his tongue moves over you, pushing deeper, licking faster, his hands gripping your hips, holding you still so you take it, so you let him ruin you.

And fuck, does he ruin you.

His tongue drags through your slick folds, savoring the taste of you, groaning like he's the one getting off on this. His grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin, keeping you exactly where he wants you—right here, bent over for him, spread and dripping, his to devour.

"God, baby," he murmurs, lips brushing against your cunt, the heat of his breath making you shudder. "You taste so fucking good."

Then he's back on you, mouth hot, tongue relentless, flicking over your clit in quick, teasing strokes before dipping back down, fucking into you, pushing as deep as he can, like he's trying to pull your orgasm out with nothing but his mouth. And shit, it's working.

You moan, high and needy, your thighs trembling as he eats you out like he has all the time in the world. He hums against your cunt, the vibration sending another sharp wave of pleasure through you, and you jerk forward, almost losing your balance, but his hands are there, strong and steady, keeping you still, keeping you right where he wants you.

His hands slide up your thighs, spreading you wider, and then he's burying his face even deeper, tongue working you open, licking into you like he's starving. Your body jerks again, a desperate whimper spilling from your lips, and he groans, loving it, loving how wrecked you are for him.

"That's it, baby," he mutters, voice rough, breathless. "Give me everything."

And you do. You can't help it. The pleasure is too much, winding tighter, burning hotter, your body teetering on the edge, your moans turning into frantic little gasps. He feels it, the way you're shaking, the way your body clenches, and he knows—he fucking knows.

"Cum for me," he rasps, sucking your clit into his mouth again, tongue flicking over it in tight, fast strokes, relentless. "Cum all over my tongue, baby, let me taste it."

And then, it snaps. Your orgasm crashes over you, sudden and sharp and so fucking good, your body shaking, your moans breaking, your fingers clawing at the bike seat as he fucks you through it with his tongue, licking you like he needs it, like he lives for this, groaning against your pussy, his lips wet, his face buried between your legs as he drinks you down.

And all you can think, all you can fucking feel, is how much you love this, how much you love him, how no one has ever, ever made you cum like this, like they know your body inside and out, like they own it.

Like Dick does. And fuck—he's not even done yet.

He knows he should stop. He should give you a break, should let you catch your breath, should let the aftershocks of your orgasm fade before he touches you again.

But he can't.

Because you're so fucking pretty like this—your body still trembling, your pussy swollen and soaked, your thighs quivering as you try to come down. And he loves you so much, but he also loves the way you fall apart when he overstimulates you, loves the way you whimper when he keeps licking you, loves how you try to squirm away but don't really mean it.

So he doesn't let you.

His hands tighten around your thighs, his grip firm, holding you there, keeping you spread, keeping you open, keeping you exactly where he wants you. And then he licks you again. Slowly, softly—just a teasing flick of his tongue against your swollen little clit.

Then another, just as light, just as lazy. His breath is hot against your drenched cunt, and he hums like he's savoring the taste, like he's enjoying the way your hips twitch, the way your body reacts even before your mind can catch up. He drags his tongue lower, tracing the mess he's made of you, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit, catching the slick, the warmth, the leftover pulse of your orgasm.

And then he moans against you, low and deep, the vibration sinking into your skin, making your legs jolt in his grip. He's drowning in it, in you, in the way your pussy is still fluttering, still so puffy and needy even after everything.

His mouth is hot and wet as he kisses your clit again, this time with more pressure, and when he flicks his tongue just right, he groans like he can't help himself, like he's the one getting wrecked from how fucking good you feel.

And you sob out his name. "Dick—fuck, please—"

But he doesn't stop. He flattens his tongue against your clit, licking slow, lazy circles, making sure you feel everything, making sure you take it, dragging his tongue through the mess he's made of you, humming as he laps at you, flicking his tongue just right.

Until you're whimpering. Until your thighs are shaking. Until you're trying to pull away, trying to lift yourself off the bike, trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure—but his hands hold you firm, keeping you there, making you feel all of it, until you're gasping, until you're pleading—

"Dick, please, I can't—I need you to fuck me, baby, please—"

That snaps him out of it.

His mouth leaves you with a final, wet kiss to your clit, his chest heaving as he presses one last, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. Then another. Then he's nipping at your ass, kneading it, squeezing it, letting himself feel you, letting himself worship you. And then, he gets up. And fuck, he's so hard.

His dick aches, straining against his sweatpants, desperate to be inside you, to feel your tight little pussy squeezing around him, to fuck you the way he knows you need. He pulls himself out, his dick heavy in his hand, the head flushed, leaking precum. He groans softly as he slides it between your legs, pressing it against your soaked folds, sliding it through the slick mess, coating himself in your arousal.

"Fuck, baby," he mutters, watching the way his dick glides so easily through your wetness, watching how your slick clings to him in strings as he drags the tip through your folds, bumping against your swollen clit. "Look at you. So fucking wet for me."

And then, he pushes in. The head of his cock stretches you open, slow and deep, sinking inside your tight, drenched cunt, pressing in inch by inch, splitting you open around him. And fuck—you still struggle to take him, still stretch tight around his thick cock, still feel yourself pulse, struggling to accommodate him even after all this time.

But you love it.

You love how big he is, how good he feels, how he always makes you feel so fucking full, like you're made for him, like you need this, need him. And fuck—he loves it too.

Loves how tight you are, how needy, how your pussy clenches around him as he pushes deeper, struggling to take all of him, struggling to handle it—but trying anyway, because you always do, because you always take him so fucking well.

"Jesus, baby," he groans, his head falling forward, his hands gripping your hips, his breath ragged as he bottoms out with a slick little squelch, his dick buried all the way inside you.

You shudder, your whole body trembling, your fingers gripping the seat, a broken whimper spilling from your lips. And he leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, pressing his lips to your ear, his voice low, sweet, warm.

"You okay, pretty girl?"

You nod frantically. "Yes—yes, baby, please, move—"

And with a moan, he does. Slow, long thrusts, dragging his cock out almost all the way before pressing back inside, giving you everything, filling you completely, making sure you feel all of him with every deep, slow stroke.

And fuck—how can he not?

You're so good for him, so wet, so hot, squeezing his dick like you never want him to leave, and he needs to give you everything, has to make you feel good, has to let you feel how much he fucking loves you.

His hands slip under your shirt, sliding up your stomach, finding your tits, teasing your nipples as his cock thrusts into you, slow and deep, groaning into your ear, lost in the way your pussy grips him, lost in the way you moan for him, lost in the way you let him ruin you.

Dick groans against your ear, voice thick with arousal, breath hot against your skin as he keeps you right where he wants you—pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around you, his cock buried deep inside your soaked little cunt.

And fuck, he can feel you.

The way your pussy clenches around him with every slow, deep thrust. The way your walls flutter when he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot that makes you gasp. The way your slick coats his cock, dripping down his length, soaking him in your arousal.

"God, baby," he mutters, dragging his lips along your neck, licking, sucking, nipping, loving the way you shudder against him. "You feel so fucking good. Always so fucking tight for me."

His fingers slide over your tits, teasing your nipples, rolling them between his fingers as he fucks you—slow, deep, shallow thrusts, grinding into you, making sure you feel it, making sure you take it all, making sure you know how much he loves this, how much he loves you.

And your little moans—fuck, they drive him crazy. So sweet. So needy. So fucking perfect.

"Love your pussy, baby," he breathes, dragging his tongue along your throat, nipping at your jaw, rolling his hips into you just right to make you whimper. "So wet for me. So fucking soft. Always take my dick so well, don't you?"

You moan, your hands gripping his forearms, your nails digging into his skin as he grinds deeper, making your breath hitch, making your body tremble. And then, his hand slides lower. Fingers dipping between your thighs, finding your swollen little clit, circling it in time with his thrusts.

And God, your whole body shakes.

Your moan breaks into a whimper, your cunt clenching so tightly around his cock that he groans against your throat, his hips stuttering, his fingers pressing firmer against your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that make your thighs quiver.

"Yeah, that's it," he breathes, kissing the corner of your jaw, murmuring soft little praises into your ear, words meant just for you. "Feels good, baby? Love when I fuck you like this? Love when I take my time with you?"

You nod frantically, gasping when his fingers press just right, rubbing you so perfectly in sync with his thrusts, fucking you so deep, so slow, like he's savoring every second. And he is.

Because you drive him crazy. Because he loves you more than anything. Because he loves the way you fall apart in his arms, the way your little gasps turn to soft, needy moans, the way you tremble when he whispers in your ear, the way you whimper when he tells you—

"So fucking pretty, baby." His lips brush your ear, voice sweet, voice filthy. "So good for me. Love you so much. Love this perfect little pussy, all wet and warm for me, squeezing me so tight. Made for me, huh?"

And you sob out a moan, thighs shaking, pussy clenching around his dick, making him groan, making his fingers work your clit just a little faster, making you whimper as he thrusts slow and deep, keeping you right on the edge, keeping you panting, trembling, desperate—

"C'mon, pretty girl," Dick murmurs, voice thick with want, slow and sweet and hot against your ear. "Wanna feel you cum on my dick, baby."

His fingers press down on your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that make you whimper, that make your whole body tremble against him. And he knows—he knows you're close, knows exactly how to keep you there, hovering on that edge, making it last, making you feel everything.

And God, the way your pussy clenches around him, the way you squeeze all the precum from his dick, making every slow thrust sloppier, slicker—fuck, it drives him crazy.

"Feel that?" he breathes, rolling his hips slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch, making sure you feel how his dick drags inside you, stretching you open, making you shiver. "Feel how wet you are? Fuck, baby, you're dripping for me."

And you are. You can feel it—feel how your pussy grips him with every slow, deep thrust, feel how his dick slides against your walls, so slick, so fucking good, feel how his fingers rub your clit just right, how his body is solid and hot against yours, how he fucks you so good your thoughts scramble.

It's too much, it's not enough, you need more, you need him to ruin you—

"Dick," you gasp, clutching at his arms, nails digging into his skin, body shaking against his.

And he knows.

"Yeah, baby," he breathes, his voice soothing, his fingers pressing a little firmer, rubbing a little faster, his dick grinding deep, grinding right against that spot that makes you sob. "You gonna cum for me?"

And fuck, you can't stop it. The thick stretch of him, the way he splits you open, the way you still struggle to take him, even after all this time—like your pussy was made for him, like it's still adjusting, still molding around his dick every time he fucks you.

And God, the curve of him—it drives you crazy. The way it presses against every sensitive spot inside you, the way it drags so deep, so perfect, the way he angles his hips just right, making you shudder, making your breath hitch, making you feel everything.

He knows exactly what he's doing, knows exactly how to fuck you, knows exactly how to make you fall apart—and he loves it.

Loves feeling your pussy squeeze around him, loves how wet you are, how slick and messy and slippery, loves how your little whimpers turn into breathless moans, how your whole body trembles against him, how you fucking lose yourself on his dick.

And God, he loves his girl. Loves how you take him, loves how you want him, loves the way you beg, the way you moan, the way you don't care where you are, don't care if anyone sees, don't care about anything except how good he makes you feel.

Your whole body shudders, your pussy pulses, squeezing his dick, making a mess, your slick coating him, soaking his thighs, your legs shaking as the pleasure crashes over you, deep and wet and sloppy, and Dick groans, because fuck, you feel so fucking good.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, groaning against your skin as he fucks you through it, slow and deep, letting you feel it, letting you ride it out, letting your cunt milk his dick, squeezing him tight, making him throb. "There we go, pretty girl. Just like that. Just like that, baby."

And you sob, your body wracked with pleasure, your pussy clenching around his dick, dragging out every slow, sweet second of your orgasm. But it's not enough.

Your whole body is still buzzing, your nerves lit up, your thighs shaking, your breath coming in gasps, your heart hammering, and you want more, you need more, you need him.

"More," you whimper, voice needy, breathless, head falling back against his shoulder as you beg, "I want more, please—"

And he gives it to you, no hesitation. Because he loves fucking you. Loves fucking you however you want, however you need—but like this, slow and lazy, rolling his hips into you, feeling every little shiver, every little whimper, making sure you feel it, making sure you take it—

Yeah, this is his favorite.

Because God, you're so good for him. And he's gonna make sure you know it. And fuck, it's sloppy—messy and wet, the sounds of it obscene, your slick coating him, making every thrust loud, making his dick glisten every time he pulls back, only to sink back into you, thick and hot and deep.

And it's so good. Your body trembling, your legs weak, his arms strong around you, keeping you in place, keeping you right where he wants you, right where you need to be. And his voice—low and rough and wrecked against your ear, telling you how good you feel, how tight you are, how fucking perfect.

"God, baby," he groans, sucking a mark into your throat, hand slipping down between your legs again, fingers teasing your clit, circling it slow, firm, right in time with the slow drag of his dick. "You're so wet, fuck—dripping all over me, you hear that?"

And God, you do. You hear everything.

The slick, obscene sounds of your pussy, the wet slap of his hips against yours, the breathless little moans spilling from your lips, the low, deep groans of his own, rumbling through his chest, against your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

And he knows you're close again, knows your body too well, knows the way you tense, the way your walls flutter around his dick, knows the way your little gasps turn breathless, shaky—knows exactly how to push you over the edge.

"Cum for me, baby," he breathes, rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit, just enough, just right, pressing harder, thrusting deeper, fucking you slow and deep and so, so good.

With a sharp, broken gasp, your whole body locks up, pussy tightening, squeezing down hard around him, and he groans, breath shuddering, arms tightening around you as he fucks you through it, lets you ride it out, lets you lose yourself on his dick, lets you drown in it. And God, you do.

The pleasure hitting you in waves, crashing over you, rolling through you, heat rushing down your spine, leaving you wrecked, leaving you gasping, shaking, still grinding back against him, because you need more, need him, need everything.

And he gives it to you. Because of course he does. He's a giver, always has been, always will be—and he's still so fucking hard inside you.

Still throbbing, still fucking you slow, dragging every last bit of pleasure out of you, making sure you feel everything.

Every inch of his dick, every curve, every ridge and vein, every pulse, every slow, deep thrust—

And you're still so needy.

Still desperate, still trembling, still aching for more, still chasing it, rolling your hips back against him, moaning softly, pleading without words. And fuck, he loves it. Loves how much you want him, how much you need him, loves how good you are for him, how perfect.

And God, he wants to cum inside you. Even though he always does, even though he always pumps you full, he still fucking wants it, still needs to hear you say it—and he knows you will. Because you love it.

So when he whispers, "You want my cum?"

You fucking whimper. Nod frantically, grinding back against him, breathless, desperate, murmuring, "Yes, baby, please, I need it."

And fuck, that's all he needs. All he ever fucking needs. And then he gives it to you.

A little harder, a little faster, hips snapping against your ass, dick fucking into you, long and deep, chasing his release, groaning against your neck, panting against your skin, moaning your name.

And it wrecks you.

The way he moans for you, the way he fucks you so deep, the way his body tenses, muscles flexing, his arms strong around you, the way his hand stays between your legs, the way he presses his fingers against your clit, rubbing slow, firm, so fucking good.

And you cum again. Sharp and sudden and overwhelming, moaning so loud, your whole body locking up, pussy pulsing, squeezing tight around his dick. And fuck, he loses it. Groaning loud, moaning into your neck, his hips stutter, slamming deep one last time as his body shudders against yours.

His dick throbs, pulsing, pumping thick, hot ropes of cum into your cunt, filling you up just the way you love. It's so much, so hot, spilling deep, coating your walls, and you whimper, arching against him, squeezing him tighter like you can't get enough.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice wrecked, his breath ragged against your skin. "You feel that?"

You do. You feel every hot pulse, every slick, messy drip of his cum inside you. Your pussy flutters, clenching down on him, milking every last drop from his still-twitching dick, greedily keeping him inside.

His hands flex on your hips, keeping you steady, keeping you in place, and he swears under his breath as he feels you squeezing him like that, like you never want to let him go. His cum seeps out in slow, sticky dribbles, slicking your thighs, but he doesn't pull out, not yet.

He presses his body flush against yours, murmuring, "Fuck, I love filling you up, baby. Love keeping you full of me."

And God, you love it too. Love the heat of it, love the way it fills you up, love the way it spills out, love the way he gasps, the way his whole body shudders. Love how fucking wrecked he is, how fucking gone he is, how fucking perfect he makes you feel.

His grip tightens on your hips as he pulls you back against him, his dick slipping deeper, pushing his cum further inside your pussy. His breath is hot against your skin as he groans, the sound rough and needy, matching the way his hands spread you open, watching the way your slick, mixed with his release, coats his length as he slides in and out.

"Fuck, baby, look at that," he murmurs, voice thick with lust, his thumbs digging into your hips as he pulls you back onto his cock, each thrust just a little rougher, just a little filthier.

His eyes are locked on the way your cunt clenches around him, sucking him back in every time he pulls out. "You love this, don't you?" he murmurs, dragging his fingers up your spine, making you arch for him. "Love when I fuck you full, keep you dripping, keep you messy for me."

Your moans are desperate now, hands gripping onto the cool metal of his bike as he pounds into you, every thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

The way he stretches you open, the thick curve of his dick hitting deep, brushing against that sweet, sensitive spot inside you over and over, has your mind spinning. Every time he moves, you feel him pressing against your walls, filling you so completely, so perfectly, you can barely breathe. His hands slide up your waist, one reaching between your legs to rub slow, teasing circles against your swollen clit.

"Gotta make you cum again, baby," he groans, his thrusts getting rougher, his fingers pressing just right, his name tumbling from your lips in breathless moans.

Your pussy tightens around him, your walls fluttering, the pleasure building so fast it makes you dizzy. You whimper his name, your legs shaking, pleasure curling deep in your belly as he fucks you through it, his voice coaxing you over the edge.

"That's it, pretty girl. Give it to me. Show me how good it feels."

Your orgasm crashes over you, and he doesn't stop, doesn't slow, just keeps fucking you through it, his fingers still rubbing, his dick still stretching you, filling you, making it last until you can't take it. Your body trembles, your voice breaking as you gasp for air, the pleasure so intense you can barely hold yourself up.

Your pussy clenches tight around him, throbbing, squeezing, so slick and swollen, overstimulated, every nerve sparking like a live wire. Your whole body quivers, and you let out a desperate, broken whimper, feeling the wet, messy squelch of his dick sliding in and out, pushing his own cum even deeper. It's too much, too good, your thighs shaking, your breath catching, your skin hot and damp.

And he still isn't done.

He grips your hips, fucking into you deeper, his pace relentless, chasing another release. "Gonna fill you up again, baby," he groans, his voice thick with lust, his body tense against yours. "Gonna pump you so full you feel me dripping down your thighs. You want that, don't you?"

You nod frantically, moaning, begging, "Yes, baby, please, I need it."

That's all it takes.

He groans, deep and raw, his pace getting erratic, desperate. His hands grip you tighter, pulling you onto his cock, thrusting deep, fast, his breath ragged, moans spilling into your ear as he finally snaps, spilling inside you with a low, filthy groan.

You shudder as the heat of it spreads through you, the way he throbs inside making you whimper, your walls fluttering around him, milking every last drop. He stays buried deep, breathing hard against your skin, his hands smoothing over your waist, your stomach, possessive and tender.

"Fuck," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the back of your shoulder, his hands still gripping you tight. "You take it so good, baby. So fucking good for me."

And even as he catches his breath, he rocks into you just a little more, just to feel how perfectly you fit around him, how fucking good you feel when you're full of his cum.

Your whole body shudders, wrecked from the pleasure, from the way he's fucked you so good and so deep, left you trembling, sobbing, barely able to keep yourself standing. Your knees threaten to buckle, but you don't fall—because he's there.

Strong and steady behind you, his chest warm against your back, his hands firm as they hold you up, keeping you in place while his dick still pulses faintly inside you. He's still so deep, still stretching you out, his cum thick and leaking from where he’s buried, seeping out slow, messy, coating your inner thighs in sticky warmth.

"Shhh, I've got you, baby," he murmurs, lips brushing against the back of your neck as he presses soft kisses there, slow and sweet, shushing you gently while his hands smooth over your waist. His thumbs rub comforting circles into your overheated skin, grounding you, letting you come back to yourself. "Breathe for me, love. You okay?"

You sniffle, body still shaking as you nod, and he lets out a quiet little chuckle, kissing the shell of your ear, your temple, the damp curve of your cheek.

"So good for me," he praises, his voice all soft and warm, wrapping around you like something safe.

He stays like that, just holding you, keeping you steady while your heart slows, while your body catches up to itself, while your mind drifts back from the haze of pleasure. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder, and he sighs, deep and content, letting his hands settle at your hips, thumbs stroking lazy, soothing lines over your skin.

After a while, he murmurs, "Ready to head back home and let me clean you up, baby?"

You hum, nodding sluggishly, all soft and spent, and the sound you make when he finally—finally—pulls out is a wrecked little whimper, a shuddering gasp as you feel the way he leaves you empty.

He kisses your cheek, murmuring, "I'm sorry, my love," because he knows how sensitive you are, how raw and used you feel, even as his cum spills out of you, dripping down the inside of your thighs in thick, messy trails.

And fuck, the sight of it nearly ruins him.

His hands flex at your hips, and he has to force himself not to do it—not to spread you open and push it back inside, because that's exactly where it belongs, inside your pretty little pussy, keeping you full, making sure it stays. He bites his lip, exhaling hard, but then you shiver, and he blinks out of it, groaning softly as he tucks himself back into his sweatpants before sliding your panties and leggings back up.

You turn in his arms, sluggish, needy, clinging to him with tired limbs, and he lets you. He wraps you up tight, tucks you against his chest, his chin resting against the top of your head as he whispers, "I've got you, baby. It's okay. We'll be home soon, yeah?"

You nod, nuzzling against him, eyes heavy, body still trembling faintly in the aftermath, and he smiles, cupping the back of your head, stroking his fingers through your hair before he helps you back onto his bike. He makes sure you're settled, hands firm at your waist as you swing your leg over, and fuck—he knows.

He knows exactly what you feel when your panties, full of his cum, press up against your still-sensitive cunt, the slick warmth rubbing against you, making you suck in a sharp little breath as you shift against the seat.

His fingers squeeze at your hips, and his voice is low, teasing as he murmurs, "Feel that, baby?"

You bite your lip, nodding, and his grin turns wicked, but he doesn't push, doesn't tease you any more than that. He just pulls your arms around his waist, making sure you're snug against him, and then he starts the bike, the low rumble vibrating through you as he takes off, heading home.

And the whole way back, he's thinking about the mess between your legs, about the way you feel pressed up against him, warm and soft and still twitching slightly with aftershocks. His grip tightens on the handlebars, and he exhales hard through his nose, resisting the urge to push the speed higher, to get home faster, to lay you out and do it all over again.

But tonight—tonight he just wants to clean you up, wrap you in one of his t-shirts, and kiss your pretty face. By the time you make it home, you're already half-asleep against his back, your arms slack around his waist, your cheek resting between his shoulder blades.

He smiles as he parks, turning the engine off before squeezing your thigh, murmuring, "Baby, we're home."

You make a soft, sleepy sound, nuzzling against him, and his heart clenches at how sweet you are. He doesn't even make you move, just swings off the bike before helping you down, steadying you when your legs wobble. You blink up at him, dazed and adorable, and he can't help himself—he cups your face in both hands and kisses you, soft and lingering, his thumbs stroking along your cheekbones.

"Let's get you inside, love," he murmurs against your lips.

But as soon as you take a step, your legs nearly give out, and he's got you before you can even think about falling. A small chuckle rumbles from his chest, warm and fond.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Without another word, he bends slightly and scoops you up into his arms, holding you close as he carries you inside. You don't protest—just tuck your face against his neck, breathing him in, the heat of his skin, the lingering scent of leather and the night air. He walks up the stairs effortlessly, like you weigh nothing, like holding you is the most natural thing in the world.

In the bathroom, he sets you down gently, keeping his hands on your waist until he’s sure you're steady. "Let's get you cleaned up, baby," he says, voice soft as he reaches in to turn on the shower, letting the water warm up.

Then he's undressing you, peeling away your clothes with slow, careful hands, pressing kisses to each inch of skin he reveals. You're already blinking sleepily at him, and that little pout he loves so much starts to form on your lips—unconscious, drowsy, so sweet it makes his chest ache. He smiles, running his thumb over your bottom lip before leaning in to kiss it.

"My sweet, pouty girl," he murmurs against your mouth, teasing but impossibly fond.

He undresses too before stepping into the shower with you, guiding you under the warm spray. You sigh at the heat, your body melting against his as you press close, clinging to him with sleepy hands. He chuckles, smoothing his hands down your back, keeping you steady against him.

"You're so cute like this," he says, pressing a kiss to your damp hair.

He washes you both with slow, careful hands, massaging the shampoo into your scalp, rubbing gentle circles along your body, making sure to clean every inch of you. You hum softly as his fingers trace along your skin, your arms still wrapped around him, like you don't want to let go even for a second. Not that he minds—he loves when you get clingy like this, all warm and soft in his arms.

Once you're both clean, he turns the water off and grabs a towel, wrapping you up before lifting you into his arms again. You make a tiny noise of protest, burying your face in his chest, and he laughs, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

"I know, baby. I've got you."

He dries you off gently, warm towel brushing over your skin as he murmurs quiet, loving words—praises, reassurances, things he knows will soothe you further. Once you're warm and dry, he tugs one of his t-shirts over your head, letting it swallow you up, before guiding a clean pair of panties up your legs.

He loves you in his clothes—loves how small you look in them, how the fabric drapes over you, hanging loose on your frame. There's something about it, about you wrapped up in something that's his, that makes his chest ache, that makes him want to pull you close and never let go.

"There we go," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "All set, my love."

Then he's picking you up again, carrying you into the bedroom, and laying you down in bed before sliding in beside you. You immediately curl into him, nuzzling into his chest, your legs tangling with his, your body molding against him like you were made to fit right there. His arms come around you, holding you close, one hand smoothing over your back, the other rubbing gentle circles into your hip.

He kisses your face—your forehead, your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the soft curve of your jaw—until he feels your body fully relax against him, your breathing slowing, your fingers stilling where they'd been tracing over his skin.

"Sleep, pretty girl," he whispers, pressing one last kiss to your temple.

You sigh softly, nuzzling closer, your body warm and pliant in his arms. Your voice is barely more than a whisper, drowsy and sweet, as you murmur, "Love you so much, baby."

His chest tightens at how soft you sound, how utterly at peace you are in his arms. He tucks the blankets around you, making sure you're wrapped up and comfortable, then presses another kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment.

"I love you too," he whispers against your skin, his voice low, full of warmth, full of everything he feels for you.

“Are you sure?” Dick’s voice was soft, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over your hip bone. His touch sparked with heat, a promise of what was to come. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, searching for any sign of hesitation.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding in your chest. “I… I think so,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It’s just…”

His touch was gentle, yet unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world to explore you.

His hands paused for a moment, his voice low and soothing. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s okay. We can stop.”

You shook your head quickly, barely above a whisper. “No. I want this. I just… I’ve never—”

He cut you off gently, lips brushing your temple. “I know. That’s why we’re taking our time. Tonight is about you. I want to make this perfect for you.” His hand slid up your side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“It’s just… I’ve never done this before,” you admitted, cheeks burning. “I’ve never been… exposed like this. All of me.”

Dick’s fingers stilled, and he pulled back slightly, his eyes soft but intense, sending a flutter through your stomach. “Look at me,” he said gently, cupping your cheek.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your breath catching at the tenderness in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he said firmly, a note of certainty in his voice. “Every inch of you. And I’m not going to rush this. We’ll take it slow, okay? Only what you’re comfortable with.”

You nodded, biting your lip as his hand returned to your hip, tracing lazy patterns over your skin.

It had started with a soft, lingering kiss in the dim light of the bedroom. His hands had been tentative, slipping under the hem of your shirt, brushing against the soft skin of your waist. You tensed at first, breath caught in your throat, but he paused, waiting for you to relax before continuing.

“Good?” he had murmured, lips grazing your jaw.

You nodded, a shiver running down your spine as his hands mapped out the curves of your body, his touch warm and reassuring.

But now, as he gently tugged at the waistband of your pajama pants, your nerves resurfaced.

“Gray, wait,” you breathed, hand grasping his wrist.

He stopped immediately, pulling back to meet your gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” You hesitated, cheeks flushed. “What if you don’t… like what you see?”

His expression softened, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Sweetheart, I already know what I’ll see. And I already know I’m going to love it.”

His confidence was reassuring, but your heart still raced as he slid your pants down your legs. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but the way he looked at you—like you were the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen—made your breath catch.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his gaze sweeping over you, his fingers tracing the curve of your thigh. “Perfect.”

His eyes lingered on you with a softness that left you breathless. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, touch tender and reverent. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick with admiration. “Every part of you… I could spend hours just looking at you, memorizing you.”

You fidgeted under his gaze, cheeks heating with the intensity of his words. “Gray,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’m scared you’ll… I don’t know… find me lacking.”

He leaned down, lips brushing your forehead in reassurance. “No,” he said firmly. “You’re perfect. Perfect and mine. I’ve never been this sure about anything. I want to know you, every inch of you. But only if you’re ready.”

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest. His words were reassuring, but the idea of exposing yourself fully to him still made your stomach twist with anxiety.

He seemed to sense your hesitation, cupping your face in his hands, thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “Look at me,” he said softly.

You met his gaze, steady and warm. “I’m not going anywhere,” he continued. “Tonight is about you. About making you feel good, showing you how much I care. Nothing happens unless you want it to. Understand?”

You nodded, a shiver running down your spine at the sincerity in his voice.

He smiled, a soft expression of affection. “Good.” His lips met yours in a slow, tender kiss. “Now, let’s take this one step at a time.”

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, voice low with anticipation. “May I?” You nodded, breath catching as he slowly pulled the fabric over your head, revealing your bare chest. His eyes darkened as he took you in, gaze filled with awe. You instinctively raised your arms to cover yourself but lowered them at the intensity of his stare.

You lay there, completely exposed, heart racing. Dick’s gaze roamed your body with a reverence that made your skin flush, as though he were memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice filled with awe. His hands hovered just above your skin, warm and steady, savoring the moment.

“You’re staring,” you whispered, voice trembling, self-conscious despite the tenderness in his gaze.

“And why wouldn’t I?” he replied with a small smile. “You’re breathtaking.” His fingers finally brushed over your décolleté, tracing the delicate curve. You shivered, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Can I…?”

His gaze was reverent as his hands gently cupped your breasts once you made a noise granting him permission, thumbs grazing your nipples. You gasped, the sensation sending shivers through your spine.

“God,” he breathed, voice husky. “You’re stunning.” He trailed kisses down your body, his hands following, cupping and teasing as he moved with deliberate slowness. “So soft.”

You gasped, your body arching as pleasure shot through you. Dick chuckled, a low, warm sound against your skin. “Sensitive, baby?” he teased.

You nodded, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “Mnnh.”

You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as pleasure overwhelmed you. “Gray,” you moaned, “I… It’s too much...”

He pulled back slightly, eyes meeting yours. “Just let yourself feel it. I’ve got you.”

Your body burned with pleasure, every nerve alight with sensation. His mouth was everywhere—kissing, licking, exploring—and with every touch, you felt yourself unraveling, your control slipping away.

"Gray," you breathed, voice thick with need. You weren’t sure what you were asking for, but he seemed to understand.

“I know,” he murmured, lips moving lower down your body, leaving a trail of kisses. “I’ve got you.”

Shivering, you clutched at the sheets as his mouth moved lower, his lips tracing the path of your torso. His hands slid over your hips, your thighs, until they reached the waistband of your panties.

His fingers paused, eyes locked on yours. “Can I take these off?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

You nodded, breath hitching as he slowly slid the fabric down your legs, leaving you exposed.

You shivered, your hands clutching at the sheets as his mouth moved lower, his lips trailing kisses down your torso. His hands followed, sliding over your hips, your thighs, until they reached the junction between your legs.

You tensed, heart racing as he gently pulled your pants off, his touch tender, reassuring. "Eyes on me," he said, voice firm yet gentle. You obeyed, eyes meeting his warm gaze.

He slid his hands down, fingers tracing the curve of your thighs before finally reaching the apex of your legs. You gasped as his fingers brushed against you, but his voice was soft and steady, a reminder of his patience.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his touch slow, deliberate.

His hands continued to explore, steady and unhurried, drawing out every sensation, every moan from you. He took his time, making you feel cherished with every touch.

“Gray,” you breathed, your voice trembling.

“Shh,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ve got you.”

"So wet," he observed, his voice filled with awe. He leaned down, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. "You have no idea how much you turn me on."

His fingers brushed against the delicate folds of your sex, and you gasped, your back arching off the bed. He chuckled softly, the sound sending a thrill through you.

“So sensitive,” he murmured, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on, but with every kiss, every whisper, you surrendered a little more.

"Patience, sweetheart," he murmured, his fingers gently parting your folds. You let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the sheets as he began to explore you with slow, deliberate strokes.

You gasped, your breath shuddering as he leaned down to kiss your pearl. Your hips bucked instinctively, and he chuckled, low and husky, the sound vibrating through your body.

And when he finally tasted you, it was as though the world stood still, your body trembling in his embrace. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. His mouth was everywhere, kissing and licking and sucking, exploring every inch of your skin. You felt like you were unraveling, your control slipping away with every touch.

Gently, he licked you, holding your lips apart with both thumbs and pampering your pussy like the princess he made you feel like. Your hands flailed, fingers clawing at the sheets not knowing what to grab. Dick reached one of his arms out, giving you something to stabilize yourself as you intertwine your fingers with his. His other arm flexes as he holds your hips down, the muscle rippling and making you wetter.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “You’re so beautiful like this. So perfect.”

You felt a flush of heat rise to your cheeks, but you couldn’t look away. His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, soothing the last remnants of your nervousness. You trusted him completely, and that trust allowed you to let go, to give in to the sensations that were consuming you.

With one final suck on your clit, you hurdle into your first orgasm, shuddering as the pleasure courses through your body as Dick rides you through it.

“So sweet,” he murmured, once the shakes stop rolling through you.

"You’re so responsive," he murmured, pressing soft kisses all over as he made his way back up to you. "I love watching you fall apart for me. Do you think you can give me a few more, baby?”

You nod shakily, meeting his dark gaze.

His fingers moved with precision, teasing your clit in slow, circular motions. You moaned, your hips instinctively arching into his touch. He grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction, and continued to work you with practiced ease.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as he added a finger, stretching you gently. “You’re so beautiful like this. So tight, so wet for me.”

You gasped as he added another and curled his fingers inside you, hitting a spot that made your vision blur. “What—what is that?” you stammered, your hands clutching at his shoulders for balance.

“That,” he said, his voice a low growl, “is your G-spot. And you’re about to learn just how good it feels when I play with it.”

He pressed against that spot again, and you cried out, your body arching off the bed. His thumb circled your clit in tandem with the steady rhythm of his fingers, and you felt the pressure building, coiling deep in your belly.

“I—I can’t—” you started, but he cut you off with a kiss, his lips claiming yours as he continued to work you closer and closer to the edge.

It was too much. You could feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke. Your body was on the edge, teetering on the brink of something incredible.

"Gray, I—" you gasped, your voice breaking as the first wave of pleasure hit you. It was intense, overwhelming in the best possible way. You cried out, your body arching off the bed as the orgasm ripped through you.

“Let go,” he whispered against your lips. “I’ve got you. Just let go.”

And you did. The orgasm crashed over you like a wave, pulling you under, your body trembling as pleasure radiated through every nerve. You clung to him, his name spilling from your lips in a broken moan as he eased you through it, his fingers never stopping their gentle rhythm until you were spent, your body limp and sated.

"That’s it," he murmured, his fingers continuing to work you through your climax.

Dick pulled his fingers from you slowly, watching as you shuddered at the loss. He brought them to his lips, tasting you with a satisfied hum that made your cheeks flush. 

When the waves of pleasure finally subsided, you were left trembling, your body boneless against the sheets.

"Beautiful," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You’re so beautiful."

You could only manage a weak smile in response, your body still tingling from the aftermath of your orgasm. Dick leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling back slightly.

"Do you want to stop?," he asked, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "We can take a short break if you need."

“No!”, you exclaimed. “I- I mean, no, I don’t want to. But.. can I have some water please?”, you ask with a tiny voice.

“Of course, sweet girl. Here, let me grab you a bottle”, your boyfriend smiles brightly, reaching for the minifridge on his side of the bed.

You take the bottle gratefully, but attempt to cover yourself at the realization that you were the only nude one. “Um, can you… also take some clothes off? It feels weird being the only one naked…”, you say shyly as you unscrew the cap. This pulls a chuckle out of your boyfriend.

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to get into my pants?”, he jokes, but you flush. Conceding at your reaction, he tugs off the t-shirt, throwing it onto the loveseat in the corner, his pants following soon after. You gulp down your water, trying not to let his lean, muscular form and prowess affect you, obviously, failing miserably as your thighs clench at the sight. 

Dick’s hands traced slow, deliberate paths over the skin of your legs , his touch igniting a fire beneath your flesh. He moved with purpose, each caress designed to draw out your pleasure, to make you feel every moment, every breath, every inch of him against you.

"Ready for more?" he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, your heart hammering against your ribs. The heat in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine as he positioned himself between your legs, his grip on your hips both steady and reverent.

"Trust me," he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours, the deep blue holding you captive in their depths. "I’ll take care of you."

The words settled deep inside you, a reassurance, a vow. He peeled off his boxers with unhurried precision, reaching for a condom, his movements confident yet careful. You watched, breath catching as you took him in—thick, veiny, with a subtle curve that made anticipation coil in your stomach.

"Relax," he soothed, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "We’ll take it slow."

The first push stole your breath, the stretch intense, teetering between pleasure and pain. Instinct had you tensing, but Dick was patient. His lips traced soft kisses along your jaw, murmuring reassurance, his hands stroking soothing paths down your sides.

"You’re doing so well," he whispered, his voice a steady anchor. "Just breathe, sweets. Let me in."

Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body adjusted. The burn slowly eased, pleasure creeping in its place, unfurling like a delicate bloom. When he was fully sheathed inside you, he stilled, giving you a moment, his forehead resting against yours.

"How do you feel?" Concern laced his voice, his touch featherlight against your cheek.

"Okay," you whispered, still trembling, still breathless, blinking away tears. But you wanted more.

His lips curled into a soft smile, reverence in his gaze as he kissed you, slow and deep, kissing away the sparkling trails of salt water from your cheeks before beginning to move. The first roll of his hips sent a jolt of sharp pain through you, and the next had you gasping in pleasure, clinging to him as he set a steady rhythm. Each thrust was deliberate, drawing you higher, deeper into sensation.

"That’s it," he praised, his voice a delicious rasp. "You feel so good, sweetheart."

The pleasure built, a slow, intoxicating wave threatening to crash over you. Then his fingers found your clit, rubbing soft, teasing circles that made you arch beneath him, gripping his biceps that rested next to yours head, your moans filling the space between you.

"Do you want to try being on top?" he murmured, his tone edged with something sinful.

You nodded, anticipation thrumming in your veins as he flipped you, guiding you to straddle him. His hands settled on your hips, grounding you as you adjusted, the new angle making you feel every inch of him in a way that made your breath hitch.

"There you go," he murmured, gaze locked onto you like you were the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen. "You’re so beautiful like this”, his fingers brushed over your nipples as he cupped your breasts again.

Heat crawled up your spine, vulnerability and desire intertwining. But in his arms, under his gaze, you felt safe. You bit your lip, a shy smile ghosting over your lips as you rolled your hips, testing, feeling. His breath hitched, fingers tightening on your skin, and the power of it sent a thrill through you.

"Just like that," he groaned, his voice rich with need. "You feel incredible."

The pace built, pleasure winding tighter, his hands guiding you, worshipping you, until you were unraveling beneath him. His words never ceased, a steady stream of praise and encouragement, pulling you closer and closer to the edge.

"Gray—" you gasped, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer.

"I’ve got you," he reassured, voice thick with devotion. "Let go for me."

And you did. The orgasm crashed over you, searing and all-consuming, stealing your breath as you trembled in his grasp. He held you through it, kissing you through the aftershocks, his whispers anchoring you as pleasure pulsed through every nerve.

"I’m close," he groaned, his voice raw, almost pleading. "Can you take it?"

You nodded, gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing all of him. His pace quickened, pushing you both toward the edge, the heat coiling in your core once more.

"Cum with me," he urged, his voice cracking with need.

And then—oblivion. The fourth? climax ripped through you, shattering and all-consuming, pulling him with you as his body tensed, his release spilling deep inside you. He held you close, burying his face against your neck, his breath ragged, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he never wanted to let go.

The world faded, time slowing to nothing as you lay tangled together, bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction. He pressed a tender kiss to your temple, his embrace steady, grounding.

"You’re incredible," he murmured, voice filled with awe, with something deeper, something unspoken.

A slow, exhausted smile spread across your lips as you melted into him, feeling his heartbeat beneath your cheek, the steady rhythm a quiet comfort.

———————————————————————————-

TAGLIST:

"hey," you said lightly, looking between the two boys. their hair was both a mess, sticking out at the edges, and wally's t-shirt was on backwards. a distinct haze seemed to hang through the room, the smell of cigarette smoke now drifting out through the door.

"hey yourself," dick smiled, stepping back slightly to allow you some space to walk through. "make yourself at home. you drink, right? we have beer."

stepping into their little motel room was like walking into a time capsule; yellow wallpaper, peeling at the edges, a sqeaky-looking double bed with a ghastly grandma-floral duvet. the source of the cigarette smell seemed to be gone, but you spotted a plastic shower cap stuck with an elastic band over the smoke detector. smart kids, or bad kids?

you left your sports sliders by the door, where two pairs of tennis shoes had been strewn.

"nice place you've got here," you said with a soft laugh, drifting your hand along the tv stand, narrowly avoiding a stray polo shirt you recognised from the tournament earlier that day.

when you spotted the little paper waste bin nudged beneath the desk, it made sense how they'd managed to make the place a little cleaner — and the sound of rushing around from before. crumpled beer cans and empty cigarette packets lay at the bottom, some tissues balled up and placed over them.

wally was the one to chuckle, finding home on the bed, assumably same as before. "hey, we know it's not the four seasons," he laughed in response, causing you to look up and meet his glinting green eyes. "but i'd say it's pretty nice. you should see what some of the other tourny people are staying in."

unsure if he meant better or worse conditions, you simply offered back a smile to show you'd appreciated his input, as well as the four seasons joke. not that you'd stayed there, but you could imagine it'd be ten times more lavish than your hotel.

although they were trying to make you comfortable, there still seemed to be some tension in the air. "so, you said you have beer?" you prompted with a soft laugh.

"right," dick said, springing up from his place still at the door, which he'd closed behind you. he travelled a short way across the room, passing you in the process, to a small handheld cooler beside one of their duffle bags. he lifted the lid and dug around for three bottles. "hope you don't mind, they're not exactly good. trying to save some money, so we've only got these shitty brands."

"it's alright," you grinned in return as dick passed you a cold, dripping bottle. "the shitty ones are always the best."

this seemed to ease dick a little out of his fear of judgement, and so he reciprocated the smile as he walked round to rest on what seemed to be his side of the bed.

dick was just passing a bottle to wally when you spoke the latter's name, causing his grip on the bottle to falter slightly. "think you could crack this open for me?" you asked, and wally's smile immediately brightened.

he grabbed a lighter from the bedstand beside him and notched it at an angle beneath the lid. adding a little strength, the lid came flying off with a fizz, and you and dick gave a cheer.

"all in a day's work," wally grinned as he carefully passed you back your beer.

judging by the small ghost of a smirk on those lips of his, the brush of his fingers against yours was purposeful. "so where you from, anyway?" he asked, unable to tear his eyes away from your first cheap sip, and the way your tongue slipped out from behind your lips to dab at a stray droplet.

"oh, i'm local; malibu area," you responded with a small nod. "and you guys? you not from california?"

they seemed to share a laugh at this, although somewhat sheepish and not the type that guys share to make someone feel stupid. dick leaned back against the headboard, bringing an arm to rest behind his neck. "no, this is actually our first time in cali."

"oh? then where's home for you?"

"well, i'm from gotham," dick began, gesturing to himself with his bottle, and then redirected it towards wally. "and this guy's from blue valley but lives in central."

your eyebrows rose as you brought your beer back up to your lips for another sip, the rim pausing just for a moment. "holy— so you're eastern boys. long way to come for a tournament, isn't it?"

"i mean, we won something," wally piped up, nodding to the trophy sitting on the desk. "so i'd say it's worth it."

wally was mimicking dick, stretching his legs out along the length of the bed, still not having noticed the tag sticking out at the front of his neck, and you'd set yourself down at the foot of the bed, positioned around their ankles; just enough space for a first meeting, but just close enough to get them curious.

"so, if you're from gotham, and you're from central, how do you know each other?"

once again the two boys share a knowing look, eyes blazing as they glanced at one another — there's something going on here, but you not quite sure what it is, you're not even sure if they know it's there.

after a few moments, dick turned back to you with a smile. he lets out an uncertain laugh. "well, we've been rooming together since we were eleven. we went to a tennis academy boarding school, and... well, let's just say we've been through everything together."

before you could stop yourself, you quickly pushed down the swig of beer you took, burning your throat, and asked, "like what? you both shared your first fuck?"

truly you'd been expecting to get a rise out of them, red faces and uneasy laughs. but, instead, they just shared another knowing look, the corners of their mouths perking up.

wally was the first to look away, chuckling to himself. "i wouldn't say that exactly, no."

"then what?"

you took this gap in the conversation to crawl forward so you were laying on your stomach, a little bit higher now up the bed. there wasn't a huge amount of space, and you were just barely grazing what was exposed of their toned thighs peeking out from beneath their tennis shorts they'd worn at the tournament.

with thicker thighs, dick's shorts were riding up, and you noticed he tensed slightly from beside you, but your eyes weren't on him.

a few beats passed before wally could respond, his lips parted slightly as he watched you, a glazed-over look in his eye like he hadn't been really in the moment. "uh..." he glanced up at dick, who didn't meet his eyes this time. "there may have been a few times we... uh... did stuff in the same room."

"that's only natural," you shrugged. then you glanced between them. "but i could tell there was something going on with you guys. you can always tell when two guys have shared intimacy like that. and you have it written all over your faces."

this time dick was the first one to look at wally, his teeth showing slightly from behind his smile, a rosy tint to his cheeks you're sure isn't the product of california summer nights; they have the window half-open, after all. he didn't speak, but you could tell you'd hit the nail on the head.

deciding the pull back a bit, you took another gulp of beer and asked a different question. "any stories to share? nothing weird, just fun."

dick let out a laugh now, a proper one. "oh, god, this guy when we were younger? such a fuckin' brat." his chest bubbled with laughter, and his blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he turned again to look at wally.

eyes always on the other.

at this, wally just huffed in a fake annoyance. "me? i could be bad, okay, everyone knew that, but dick acts like he's not, but he could be so much worse than me."

a laugh followed you now, enjoying their back-and-forth banter. "if you can't decide who's the bigger brat it's got to be both of you, then, just at the same amount."

dick gave another laugh, bottle stopping halfway to his lips just to let it out. "i like the sentiment, but it's definitely wally. everyone knows i'm an angel."

"angel with a big head," wally teased, leaning over to poke his friend in the ear with what might've been a wet finger, but was swatted eagerly away before it landed anywhere dire.

"oh, come on," you joked, nudging wally's knee lightly with your bottle. "you don't seem like such the angel yourself."

once the bottle was back up to your lips, wally poked his knee into your shoulder. "damn straight," he grinned, swigging from his own beer now.

"hey now," dick butted in, seemingly eager to have your attention back on him again. "don't let those freckles distract you. he's a cocky little bullshitter who thinks he's invincible."

turning your gaze back on him, you noted the twitch of his lips as you met eyes. "invincible? you don't think you're invincible, too? i caught a glimpse of your doubles game this morning and i'd say you're just about as much a risk-taker as he is."

dick's eyes narrowed slightly, zeroing in on you like a predator with its prey, but that small smile was still evident on his lips. "i'm calculated. i make sure of it. i don't do anything without weighing out the risks."

"what would you say the risks are now?" you asked coyly, bringing the rim of your beer bottle to your lips, where the residue of your drink glistened along your flesh. his eyes glanced down just where you wanted them to look, like he was calculating this risk.

the air was left heavy without a reply, but the intention and risk is definitely hanging down on your shoulders. the corner of your mouth twitched, and you tore your eyes away from him, finally letting the beer run down your throat as you tipped up the bottle.

from your other side, wally let out a laugh, a new red sheen to his freckled cheeks. when you moved your eyes to meet his, his efforts to avoid them became obvious, especially by the way he turned his head to the wall as he sipped at his beer.

don't say you were making him nervous.

"come on, don't say you guys can't dish it out," you laughed, watching hungrily as both boys seemed to twitch sheepishly in response. "what? have you never shared someone before?"

slowly the smiles on their faces seemed to face, but not in a way that ruined the mood — more so that something in their eyes changed, morphing into a vibrant butterfly of fire deep in the blacks of their pupils.

there it was.

the animal in their eyes boys like them get from behind a low net on a tennis court, rackets in their hands clawing at the neon green bird soaring back and forth between them and the other predators on the other side, unable to escape, for the entire forest is watching, waiting to see who reigns.

they think this is a game.

in a way, it is.

maybe here you're the tennis ball, trying to bounce off of them, waiting for someone to take your bait. or else you could trot off again back to your hotel and get your head in the game for your match tomorrow.