Squirshal

So when you are rambling about some friendship drama, or something about a new show you are watching, Tim honestly doesnt know what you are saying. I mean yes, hes looking at you, and yes he hums an occasional: "mhm" or "Yeah". But what hes is truly focused on... is your tits.

The tank top you are wearing makes them sit so deliciously, he just wants to bury his face in them, motorboat them, suck them... would you say yes? Would you let him suck your nipples nipples as you ride him? What about... a titjob?

Tim doesnt even need to say anything, because you noticed. And you offer it.

You post on Instagram, its mostly for family and friends to see what you are up to, where on vacation you are, some pics on the beach, some pics of you and Tim in a restaurant, some pics of the food you ate in said restaurant. But sometimes you get interesting comments.

"You fine asf ma"

"Let me hit mommy"

And Tim sees them. And he gets a bit insecure. Hes not the most handsome. Hes not the most charming, hell he cant even give you all the attention you deserve because of his busy schedule.

Tim is looking at your insta comments as you walk past. You notice. And Tim feels your gaze behind him. " I dont like the comments they make about you." He mutters, hesitantly, shyly. He really wants you to block these men. But thats kinda weird isn't it? You dont even respond to these comments. He shouldn't be worried. But then you say:

"Do you want me to block them?"

And his whole demeanor changes. You would do that? For him? And then he says "Yeah..." and you do it without hesitation.

As stated previously, Tim has a busy schedule, hes Red Robin after all. And Tim has this thing where he needs to know where you are, at all times to make sure you are safe. Ofcourse he tries to stalk you when he can but the city needs him and he cant always lurk in the shadows just to look at you.

Tim comes up with a solution, a tracker. Hes not sure how to bring it up to you... so he tries to hint at the idea (not so subtly as he hoped tho) . He says your name, and you look at him.

"So uhh, you know how I cant always see where you are? And I wanna know if you are safe because I care about you and my question is uhh... well, there is this thing and—" Tim is rambling, but before he can actually tell you what he wants you cut him off

"Yes Tim, you can download a tracker on my phone." You then hand him your phone. Tim is stunned for a second, and he can't hide his smile as he grabs your phone.

You dont even need to unlock it for him by the way. He knows your password by heart.

Tim loves experimenting with you when it comes to sex, and anything else too. He stumbles across a thread about squirting, and he's mesmorized. He starts doing research ofcourse, its what he does best. Tim learns about how to make a person squirt. He sits by his desk, focused, he is typing hastily, looking at forums, reading articles. Everything.

The next day Tim asks you to drink water, like every minute. "Have you already drank the whole bottle? Here is another one. It's really important to stay hydrated you know." And its awfully hard to miss how eager hes being about it all. But you (ofcourse) comply.

Later you are sitting on his face, completely in bliss. Tims glasses are all fogged up, his hair is messy, his face is completely smothered by your cunt, and hes eating you out like he already planned out every move... then he sneaks his arm on your stomach, and one behind your back, and he presses the one on your stomach down, the one on your back is there for stability.

And you dont hold back. You know what he is trying to do. And you let it happen.

You squirt. Like squirt squirt. His face is all wet, his glasses are wet, your juices are dripping all over his face and the sheets are wet too. And Tim can only smile like a fool in love.

Tim sometimes needs to be away. For some gala with Bruce. Or some mission in Blüdhaven he needs to help Dick with. And the problem is... he cant see you.

You know Tim has a borderline obsession with watching you, tracking your every move. So you make his life easier when hes away.

You set up cameras in your apartment.

Tim is bored out of his mind at the gala. Rich guys are laughing and drinking champagne talking about golf or something and he just stands there, in some corner. But then he gets a notification on his phone. Its from you.

He opens it and you sent him... a link? Tim is really curious now. He clicks on it. And he genuinely almost combusts. Hes looking through cameras you installed in your whole apartment. You just know him so well.

He heads straight to the restroom.

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“You need to blow off some steam.” 

It’s a simple, offhand comment you make into the dimness of the room. The rest of the Task Force had gone home hours ago, but you and L were still working. If you were being honest, you didn’t like to go home any more; you’d seen enough horrible shit from the Kira case that you loathed being in your own head. You hid behind excuses of finishing up a project to stay later, catching a few hours of sleep on the couch here and there. 

L never seems to mind. After a while, he became accustomed to having you around in ways you noticed. He started asking you if you wanted anything before requesting desserts or coffee from Watari; you would wake up from the couch sometimes with an extra blanket on you hadn’t had before; he asked your opinion on things frequently. You’d fallen into a routine, you and L. 

Which is why when you tell him he needs to relax, instead of tuning you out, he swivels his chair around. His knees are tucked under his chin, assuming his usual position, shirt nearly drowning his skinny frame. His eyes are wide as they peer at you through locks of dark hair, and his head tilts slightly, like a curious dog. 

His voice is as neutral as it always is. “No I don’t.” 

You raise your eyebrows, putting down the papers of transactions you’ve been rifling through to turn your own chair. You prop your elbow on the desk, leaning your head against your fist as you meet his gaze. 

“Yes you do, L.” 

“I don’t need a break like most people,” he says flatly. The glow of the cluster of monitors illuminates his silhouette, making you squint to see his facial features clearly. He spins back around only to scoop up his plate of cake, then swivels back to you as he cuts off another piece. 

“Everybody needs a break,” you retort as he chews his dessert. “You’re not superhuman.” 

L blinks at you, swallowing. “My intelligence says otherwise.” 

Realizing this is obviously a lost cause, you shrug, turning back to your desk and going back to your papers. You stifle a yawn with your arm, blinking your bleary eyes at the clock on the wall. 12:30 AM. Just a few more minutes, and you’d pass out on the couch. 

You hear L turn back around and press a button, most likely beginning his footage again, and the only sounds in the room are his fork clinking against his plate and your papers rustling. It’s always a comfortable silence with the two of you; you preferred when you were alone and the rest of the force was gone. Sure, L was strange, but you’d grown used to it quickly. You enjoy that he says precisely what he thinks, and you would be lying to yourself if you said you aren’t constantly impressed with his brain. It’s fascinating watching things click and him come to a (usually correct) conclusion. 

You don’t register a button clicking or the chair squeaking from L’s direction, scrawling notes on your paper. When he speaks again, it startles you. 

“What do regular people our age do to…blow off steam?”

You glance at him before putting your papers and pen down again, turning your own chair to face him with amusement tugging at your features. You love it when he asks you questions like this, mostly because it’s so infrequent—L doesn’t need answers from anybody but himself most of the time. He’s lowered his legs now, sprawled out and laid back in his chair, his chin resting on one propped-up hand. 

“Well,” you reply, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, “what do you do for fun?” 

“I work,” L says, completely serious. 

You scoff lightly. “That’s not fun.” 

“I enjoy it.”

“Okay,” you say, trying a different approach. “People go to the movies.” 

L tilts his head, eyes flitting past you as if in thought before landing back on yours. “Movies do not invigorate me like they would the regular person.” 

You cock an eyebrow. “Have you tried?” 

“Yes. What else?” 

You let your head fall back against the chair, staring at the ceiling as you propel yourself back and forth with your foot. The ceiling moves one direction, then the other as you go back and forth. “Some people work out. Running, or lifting weights.” 

“I work out with my brain,” L replies simply. 

You tilt your chin down, raising your head forward to look at him. He hadn’t moved, still sprawled with his chin perched on his hand. Your eyes scan down his body, completely drowned in that stupid oversized sweater. You won’t admit to another living soul how much you’d thought about what was under that sweater. How you continue to think about it.

You blink rapidly to clear your head, trying to focus. “I know, but physical exercise releases endorphins.”

His head tilts slightly, waves falling over his forehead. One thumb finds its way to his mouth, and he nibbles on it absentmindedly. His eyes never leave you. “Mental exercise releases endorphins.” 

“Not the kind you do,” you shoot back, giving him a playful grin. “Endorphins are from things like laughing and meditation. Relaxing things. Hence my point.”

“I don’t think that would work for me,” L replies. His voice never varies from its neutral lull, his face a blank slate. 

You huff slightly in irritation at every suggestion being shut down and shrug, pushing yourself back to face your desk. “Alright. I don’t know, then.” 

“Surely there are other options.” 

“Color a picture?” 

“I’m not creative.” 

“Get some sun?” 

“I burn quite easily.”

“Adopt a dog?” 

“I do not think I should be entrusted with the care of another living thing.” 

You rub your eyes with the palms of your hands in exasperation. The late night must be getting to you, because irritation is creeping into your face, pulling your mouth into a scowl. “I don’t know, L,” you mumble, laying your cheek on your bicep as you half-heartedly scan through one of the sheets in your other hand. 

There is silence for a few moments before you think of something else. “Sex helps.”

Silence ensues. Your stomach rolls once at the realization of what you just said—to your boss, no less—and how subconscious it was. It would be weird if you hadn’t thought about L like that; you were just a young woman with needs, after all. You’d been spending so much time on the Kira case that your friends had all gone to the wayside, and that included any time for sexual release. You’d been feeling your own pressure building for months, but you could never seem to find the time to connect with someone at all, much less fuck them. So had thoughts of L, panting under you on the couch with the glow of the monitors, permeated your brain sometimes? Yes. But that wasn’t even what you were implying just now, and L would know that. 

Still hearing nothing, you raise your head, glancing over at his desk. He hasn’t moved from his position once since he assumed it, and he still gazed at you, nearly unblinking as his lips worked around his thumbnail. His other hand was set on the armrest of the chair, long nimble fingers slowly and quietly tapping. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, embarrassment creeping up your cheeks with a flush. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

L blinks a few times before responding. “No, it’s alright. I asked.” His voice drawls with its usual easy tone as he finally shifts, leaning forward and pulling his knees up to his chest again. He sets his chin on one of them as he stares at you. You feel your skin prickle from your ears to your toes at his gaze, embarrassment still lingering. Turning your chair to face him again, you cross one leg over the other, crossing your arms across your body and leaning forward, waiting for him to talk. 

He finally does, taking his thumb away from his lips. “I’ve never experienced it.” 

You blink. “You’ve never had sex?” 

“No.” 

He didn’t seem ashamed of it—just stating a fact, as he always was. His next question caught you off-guard.

“Have you?” 

The way he’s handling this so easily—in stride and casual, like this is normal—is doing nothing to ease your heartbeat. You shift in your seat, using the armrests as leverage, and you almost miss how his eyes flicker down to your chest for a millisecond before landing back on your face. It does nothing to cool your cheeks; in fact, they become warmer as you fiddle with your button-down shirt. You’d undone the first couple buttons a couple of hours ago, feeling restricted and needing it looser. You hadn’t thought anything of it. Until now. 

You swallow thickly, a couple of times, trying to keep your cool before you answer. You lay your hands nervously on top of your thigh, blinking at him. “Yes. I have. Not recently. With the case and everything.” 

L’s eyebrows twitch together a fraction. “You have been spending a lot of time here. Is there a reason?” There’s no interrogation in his tone, just innocent curiosity. 

You inhale and exhale through your nose, tearing your gaze away to glance at your desk. You poke at papers and pens with one hand, trying to organize them for something to do. “The Kira case has been…scary,” you admit slowly, wincing at the thought he might find you weak for this, but you press on. “I’ve found myself not wanting to be alone. In my own thoughts.” 

When you peek back at him, he’s staring off at a wall, eyebrows still pulled slightly together as his thumb rubs over his lips. Your eyes catch on it, on his tongue when it darts out to lick them, on his finger as it kneads the plump flesh. How do his lips look so soft?

He answers without looking at you. “It’s understandable.” 

Relief pangs in your chest. “You don’t think it’s stupid?” 

“Why would I?” His gaze drags lazily back to you, head tilting the opposite direction now. “You’re human. It’s frightening. You’ve pushed aside that fear for the cause. It hasn’t gone unnoticed.” 

A smile tugs at your mouth as you look back down at your lap, fiddling with your hands, and chew on your lip. “Thanks.” 

L hums. Silence for a few moments, then:

“Does sex help you relax?” 

Your head snaps up to stare at him, your eyes stinging with how they flare in surprise. You study his face, trying to get an accurate read. It’s never worked before, and now is no exception. You can’t get a single piece of information from his steady gaze, the one he always has, trained on you like he’s dissecting all of your deepest secrets with his irises. 

Your pulse roars in your ears. You’re sure your face is beet red now as you swallow again. “Yes.” Your voice is hoarse, but you can’t seem to remedy it no matter how many times you work your throat. 

You stare at each other, neither of you moving, barely blinking. The hum of the monitors drones in your ears, the light beginning to give you a headache, but you ignore it. You’re locked onto L, his eyes like a physical weight as they bore into yours. His thumb has stopped moving in his mouth, and you hear a breath from him, louder than usual. 

He’s the first to speak, voice quieter now, more hesitant. “I never believed I was conventionally attractive enough to find a partner willing.” 

It takes you off guard, and you blink, the trance broken for a moment at the vulnerable admission. You frown. “Did someone tell you that?” 

“They didn’t have to,” he says simply—again, like a fact, not a devastating confession. He reaches behind him on the desk, plucking a macaroon from a slowly-waning plate and taking a bite. You watch his tongue dart out to catch the crumbs on his lips as he studies the dessert in his hand.

You’re still frowning at him. L was strange, sure, but he was not unattractive. His presence itself said enough—his tall stature, his surprisingly broad shoulders, dark eyes, sharp features. Maybe he wasn’t everybody’s type, but he was certainly yours, and even if he wasn’t, you’re confident he’s not ugly—even though you’ve only seen maybe three different facial expressions from him the entire time you’ve known him. You’re constantly finding yourself catching your breath when he hovers close to you during briefings, his scent of sugar and coffee brushing past your nose; his surprisingly warm hands brushing yours when you pass him documents; his slight smile of approval whenever you figure something out first. 

You watch as he pops the second half of macaroon into his mouth, sharp jaw flexing as he chews, tongue darting out once again to catch a stray crumb. He brushes his large hands together—another feature to appreciate—before looking at you again. He swallows, head tilting. “What?”

“You’re not unattractive, L,” you say, trying your best to be as nonchalant as he is while stating facts. You tilt your own head to match him. “You have…really nice features.” 

L blinks before his eyes widen just a fraction before settling back to normal. He shifts in his chair, and you know he’s flustered because of it. He lowers his knees again, bracing both hands on them as he stares at you. “You don’t need to lie.” 

“I’m not!” Your protest comes out a little bit too much like a screech, and you purse your lips in embarrassment before continuing quieter. “I’m not lying. I have no reason to lie. You’ve always been straight with me, and I’d give you that same courtesy.” 

You’re being strangely calm for how thick the air feels between you right now. Your fingers twitch on your lap for something to do, and your first habit is always to go for your hair. You break your gaze with L, reaching behind you to unclasp the hair from its clip and shaking it out with your hands. You rake your fingers through it a couple of times, tossing the clip onto your desk before settling back against the chair again, crossing your arms and looking back at your boss. 

You’re startled that he’s staring at you. Not particularly because of the act of looking, but because of how he’s looking. His eyes are wider now, darker, and they are roving over you in slow, deliberate movements, taking in your now unbound hair, your ruffled button-up, your crossed legs ending in stocking feet as you’d ditched your shoes after midnight. Goosebumps run up your skin, raising on your legs and arms in a wave of motion. You suppress a shudder as they scamper up your spine, too, leaving no part of you untouched by the weight of his assessment. 

Finally his wandering orbs meet your wide ones again. He stands slowly, and your eyes follow him, but it’s like the rest of your body is frozen. He tucks his hands into his front pockets, taking slow steps towards you. Your head tilts back more and more the closer he gets until he’s standing right in front of you, gazing down through fluttering eyelashes at you. Your heart is threatening to burst out of your ribs, it's pounding so hard, and your breathing is uneven as you stare back at him. His presence is so heavy in the air without him even touching you that you think you’ll combust if he touches you in any way. 

He crouches down in front of you, slightly below your eye level. One knee braces himself on the floor, the other housing his elbow as he wrests his arm on it. His free hand reaches out to grip the edge of your armrest. His eyes never leave yours as he adjusts to this position. 

You swallow hard, afraid to move, afraid to speak. You know your uneven breaths are loud; they seem to echo around the room, though that might just be the ringing in your ears. 

His own breaths are uneven, too, quieter but clearly stuttering. You can feel his breath tickle your face ever so slightly as he gazes at you. 

Almost as if being controlled by someone, your hand raises, slowly, reaching for his face. The planes of his skin look so smooth, the pale color nearly glowing in the dim of the room. L flinches nearly imperceptibly, but you catch it, quickly snatching your hand back. Your apology is hoarse. “I’m sorry.” 

You freeze when his hand captures yours. It’s awkward, and a little clumsy as he grips more your wrist than anything. You look at him through your eyelashes, and his gaze is dropped to your now touching skin. His hand is much bigger than yours, and his sleeve has ridden up enough for you to watch the veins in his forearm flex as he holds tightly to you. L stares at your awkwardly connected hands for another minute before he lifts your hand by your wrist, ever so slowly bringing your hand to cup his face. 

You let out what was supposed to be a chuckle, but you’re breathless and it comes out more as a stuttering ah. His skin is impossibly soft as you press your hand to his face, cupping his sharp jaw as your thumb begins rubbing soft circles on his cheek bone. Your hands are shaking; you feel it as you raise your opposite hand to brush his mop of black hair away from his eyes, savoring each strand that brushes across your fingers. 

Slowly, his eyes drag to yours. They’re fluttering every time your thumb moves, as if he’s trying not to lose himself in your touch already. His left hand stays firmly planted around your wrist as you cup his face, and his right hand twitches on his knee. 

His voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “This is quite nice.” 

You can’t help but laugh softly at the slight surprise in his tone, thumb still tracing a path along his cheekbone. You can feel his jaw flexing under your palm as you tilt your head shyly at him. “Which part?” 

“Your hand.” His always-wide eyes close gently, nostrils flaring with his next controlled exhale. “I don’t experience human contact often.” 

You hum in response, relishing the sight of the muscles in his face being relaxed for once. Slowly, you take the hand brushing through his hair and lower it to his free one, your turn now to move it as you place it on the outside of your thigh. The contact sends a jolt from the area straight to your lower stomach, the heat pooling there embarrassingly fast. You haven’t even kissed him yet and you feel like you’re going to pass out. Part of you wants to laugh in disbelief; the other part wants to run. 

But the loudest part wants to show L what he’s been missing. Lord knows this man won’t make the first move, with the way he has opened his eyes and is staring reverently at your jean-clad thigh, fingers twitching but not moving otherwise, like he isn’t sure what to do. 

“L?” you croak, throat dry. 

It snaps him out of his thoughts, head tilting back up to you. His pupils begin to dilate as you meet his gaze, knowing your face is warm and flushed right now. His hand on your thigh and the other on your wrist feel like 20 pound weights. 

“Yes?” His own voice is hoarse as well, the regularly calm exterior of the detective cracking right before your very eyes. 

It takes all of your self control to focus enough to utter your next words. 

“Do you want me?”

Your voice is more desperate than you’d like, and maybe you’d care more if you weren’t so turned on, but you wanted nothing more in this moment than L Lawliet to fuck you. 

His grip tightens on your wrist, his other hand twitching again before it slowly runs down your thigh to your knee, then back up, closer to your core this time. His shoulders are rising and falling with his deeper breaths, louder now as he stares you down through dark locks of hair. He’s never looked more like a predator hunting for his prey than he does right now. 

“Yes,” he answers, the last of his resolve cracking on his face. 

That’s enough for you. You move your hand from his jaw to tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him into you. Your lips find him immediately, and you physically restrain yourself from being rough to give him a moment to acclimate. He doesn’t know what to do at first—his lips awkwardly crash against yours—but you pull back slightly, and he’s the one that yanks you back in with a hand wrapped around the back of your neck. His lips fall into rhythm with yours, and you tilt your head to get deeper. He’s a quick learner, you think vaguely, as his tongue begins prodding at your lips. You open your mouth, allowing him to slip inside and wrestle with your own. 

A groan vibrates low in your throat, and he pulls back from you just enough to breathe, your noses still brushing. You both pant heavily, his eyelashes tickling your cheek as he stares at you, whites of his eyes flaring slightly. He swallows thickly. 

“Was that alright?”

This time you chuckle successfully, leaning your forehead down against his shoulder and mumbling into his sweater. “Yes. It was.” 

His hand on the back of your neck moves, fingertips gliding down your spine. You shiver involuntarily as he stops mid-back, your most sensitive spot, before trailing his fingers back up. His hand moves to cup your face, gently encouraging you to tilt it towards him. His eyes are still wide, but they soften when they look at you—always looking at you, hungry, like if he looked away he’d never see you again. 

“I have a bedroom,” he says, and you barely hear the waver in his tone. 

But you do.

You nod, and he finally stands. You follow suit, realizing his hand never fully left you as it brushes lightly over your forearm as if needing to keep contact. You grab his hand, then, glancing at him. His chest is heaving slightly, eyes darting between your interlocked hands and your face before he turns and begins walking, giving you no choice but to follow. 

He opens the door in the corner of the room to a small, dimly lit bedroom. Ah, so that’s what this door was for. You’ve been wondering the entire time; you’ve never seen L sleep at all, much less spend time in his bedroom. The bed is large, looking like it’s never been touched with its well made up presentation. Knowing L, it hasn’t ever been slept in.

You step in past him, and he pushes the door closed, flipping the lock with a deep click. It makes your heart skip another beat, if that’s even possible. You stare at him as he turns to you, staring back.

Feeling awkward, you tug on your shirt with your free hand, offering him a small smile. “You okay?” 

“I have…never done this,” he replies. Both of you are whispering, like if you speak too loud it will awaken something dangerous. 

“That’s okay,” you assure him, though your hands are still shaking with nerves. You’re not sure why; you’ve had sex before. This just felt…different. Reverent. “Just…do what feels good.” 

His wide eyes reflect the dim light of the small lamp in the corner. The hand still holding yours squeezes once, almost seeming involuntary. You can’t make yourself look away as he blinks at you through locks of black hair, back hunched as always, but still looming over you. You can feel his breath tickle your lips, smelling like sugar. 

He blinks, slowly. “I have done enough research on this that I believe I can perform adequately.” 

A laugh rips out of your throat, and you cover your mouth when you see the look of confusion brush over his features. You shake your head, mumbling behind your hand. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just a very L thing to do.” 

“What do you mean?” he asks, and he’s so cute as he tilts his head in confusion, like a dog trying to understand what you’re saying. 

You smile softly at him, tugging him closer with your interlocked hands. He stumbles a little into you, your chest now brushing his as you untangle your fingers and place his hand on your waist. His hand is large, surprisingly warm still, splaying over your waist and hip. His eyes never leave you; they just continue to watch you curiously as you tug his other hand to mirror the first. With him now gripping your waist, you place your palms on his chest, gazing up at him.

“How’s that?” you whisper, trying to act calm, but your heart is thundering like a racehorse. The extra contact of your bodies is sending shivers down your spine in waves. You’ve never been this close, and you want more. 

It feels like a triumph when you see a smile tug at the end of L’s lips, threatening to break through as his eyes flicker to your lips. His fingers tighten on your waist and you shiver from it. He notices, eyes going back to yours. “Does that mean you like it?” 

“Wh-” You’re stammering now, under the weight of his gaze, the heavy grip he has on you, your thighs clenching together in protest as heat floods your core. This was your idea. What were you thinking? This is insane. “What do you mean?” 

“You shivered,” L says simply, and one hand leaves your waist. His thumb traces your jaw, slowly, down to your lips, and the rough pad of his thumb rubs against your bottom lip. Your breath catches as he continues. “Was it a positive response?” 

“Y-Yes,” you breathe out, hands curling around the front of his sweater as you press closer. You feel like you’ll go crazy if you don’t get him naked under you right this second, so you tug him towards the bed and stop in front of it, settling down to sit. He stands rigidly in front of you, your eyes level with his abdomen, and you glance up at him. The muscle in his jaw ticks once, hands flexing at his sides. 

You try for another smile, nerves stealing your breath as you gently tug at his shirt. He hesitates for just a second before raising his arms, pulling the sweater off in one quick movement. You knew he was skinny, but your eyebrows raise at the surprising leanness to his figure. His stomach is taut, and your eyes drag down to two lines coming together in a V and disappearing into his low-rise jeans. 

You glance up at him before pressing a kiss to his abdomen. His muscles tighten underneath you, but you keep going, letting your eyes flutter close as you place soft, deliberate kisses along his abdomen and chest. His breathing hitches, his hand tentatively brushing your head before it presses to the back of it—not hard, but firmly enough to encourage you. 

You slowly sink to your knees, the mattress sliding against your back as you kneel down. You look up at L and pause at how wonderful he looks—looking down at you through heavy-lidded eyes, already immersed in the pleasure and you’d barely started. His hand began to move slightly on your head, stroking your hair, and the movement made your chest hurt from the tenderness. 

“You okay?” you ask him softly as your fingers begin unbuttoning his jeans. He lets out a small strangled sound before clearing his throat and answering with actual words. 

“Yes. I- These are new sensations for me. I’m not accustomed to them.”

You laugh softly as you pull his jeans down first, your thighs clenching at the straining bulge you see under his dark boxers. You press a kiss to the clothed area, and L’s hips jerk like he was shot. You try hard not to laugh—really, you do—but a small giggle escapes your lips anyway as you look up at him again. His fingertips have gone still against your head, and you notice a bead of sweat glistening as it catches the dim light in the race down his temple. 

“Don’t analyze the data points here,” you whisper to him, and slowly, you hook your finger underneath his boxers and pull. His cock springs free, the tip brushing your lips as it bounces up to nearly touch his stomach from how hard he is. Your eyes widen at the sight, having to stop yourself from drooling just looking at it. You’re not expecting L to be so…perfect, but here he is, at least seven inches and plenty girthy. Pre cum leaks from its flushed tip, glistening in the dim light, and you completely lose track of whatever else you were going to add.

“Fuck.” 

L’s voice is strained, and your gaze snaps up to him in astonishment. For the first time ever, you see the world’s best detective look absolutely, completely helpless, eyes blown wide, lips parted and glistening as his tongue darts out to lick them again. You can absolutely feel the wet spot in your underwear, but you squeeze your thighs together, determined to make him feel good first. 

“Fuck in a good way?” you ask, trying to keep the mood light, but L doesn’t smile. He’s too focused on you, how close your pretty lips are to his cock, and how he’s pretty sure this is the best thing he’s ever seen. 

“Yes,” he rasps. 

You wrap your hand around his length, then, pumping a couple of times as L bites his fist, letting out a strangled groan around it. You gasp softly in surprise as his hand fists in your hair, gripping it tightly as you pump him. You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips at his reaction before you lean forward and lick—one slow, deliberate drag across his tip, lapping up the pre cum there. 

“Fuck,” he says again, biting out the word as his hips buck. You can feel his thigh shaking under your hand, so you scoot over on your knees, gently guiding him to sit on the bed. You settle in front of him, fully erect cock proud in front of you, his pale skin flushed and chest heaving. 

Before you can go back in, he raises his hand, capturing your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes are desperate, and so is his tone. 

“May I—make a request?” 

You can’t help but chuckle at his formality, even naked while you kneel in front of him, but you nod, sitting back on your heels. “Of course.” 

“May I-“ A small sound rumbles in his throat. “May I take your shirt off?” 

Your face flushes impossibly warmer as you blink at him, nodding once before you push up on your knees to be closer to him. His nimble fingers fumble with the topmost button of your shirt, lips crashing into yours again, and you return the kiss hungrily. When he pulls away to kiss your neck, you can’t help the whimper that tears out of your throat. His lips are soft and insistent as they drag opened-mouth kisses down to the hollow of your throat, his fingers never stopping their conquest. Your head falls back as your hand tangles in his hair again, more whines following the first. The noises only seem to egg him on as he finally gets the last button undone and pulls back as you shrug the shirt off of your shoulders.

The way he gazes at you makes it feel like your entire body’s on fire. His eyes drink you in, from your shoulders to your collarbone to the curve of your breasts pressing against the top of your bra. Heat ignites you everywhere, and you know some of the heat at your face is from how he’s looking at you. Hungry. Like you’re about to be ruined. 

You wrap your hand around his shaft again, running your tongue over his tip a few more times. Another strangled moan is muffled by the back of his hand, and when you peek up at him, his eyes are squeezed shut and his head is thrown back. He’s propped up by his other hand behind him, muscles in his arm tensing every time your tongue makes contact. 

You don’t stop, instead beginning to slide his length into your mouth. You can’t help the whimper in your throat as you feel his girth stretch your lips, your other hand curling slightly on the bed next to his hip. He lets out a strangled gasp into his hand, the other flying to your hair and grabbing it for dear life. It rips another groan out of you as you take more of him, beginning to bob your head up and down. 

“Fuck.” It seems to be the only word he knows how to say as his thighs shake. You keep up your pace, humming every now and then and giving the lower part of his shaft a squeeze with your hand. Each moment your mouth is on him he moves more—hips bucking, abdomen clenching, hand flying from his mouth to your hair to the bed to his eyes. You lose yourself in the feeling, not stopping even when your eyes begin to water. God, your underwear are soaked; you feel it vaguely as you quicken your pace on his cock. 

He tightens up underneath you, hand tangled into your hair now as he gasps. You peek up at him through your lashes, feeling like you could come yourself just from watching his face distort in ecstasy. 

“Fuck- fuck. Fuck, I- Fuck- Gonna- g’na c- come-“

His words are choppy, breathless, and trail off when you take him as deep as you can, your eyes watering as his tip hits the back of your throat. That does it; you barely have time to pop it out of your mouth before he’s coming, thick warm ropes coating your face and chest as you continue to pump him through it. His hips twitch uncontrollably, your eyes watering at how hard he’s gripping your hair, but you don’t care—you just let out a moan of your own. Fuck, he’s coming so much that by the time he’s gasping for breath and slumping back onto the bed, it feels like you have a film over the front of your body. 

You both breathe heavily in the silence, your hand still wrapped around his still semi-hard dick as you sink back onto your heels. L forces himself to sit up, dark hair sticking to the glistening sweat on his forehead and eyes hazy as they try to focus on you. You blink, using the pad of your thumb to wipe a bit of cum beginning to drip onto your top lip off, blushing fiercely as you force yourself to keep his gaze. 

He can’t seem to catch his breath as he reaches behind him on the bed, grabbing a folded throw blanket and sitting up shakily. Without a word, he begins to wipe his release off of you in soft, slow strokes. You’re so flustered you can’t meet his gaze, suddenly shy now as the blanket collects the cum panting the tops of your tits. You peek up at L through your lashes and notice his eyes have focused again, now, and they are completely locked onto the way your boobs move under his hand when he cleans you up. 

Desperate to break the silence, and somehow more nervous, you stutter, “How- How are you feeling?” 

L finishes wiping you off, tossing the blanket off behind you. His dark hair is damp as it sticks to his forehead, partially obscuring some of his dark eyes as they meet yours again. “Quite…good. These must be the endorphins you were speaking about.” 

“They must,” you reply teasingly. 

Another smile prevails over his mouth, and you stand up slowly. His eyes never leave you, but they take in as much of you as they can. His hands reach out seemingly of their own accord, running from your ribcage down your hips. Your breath hitches at the attention—at the careful, sweet attention—that is focused solely on you. 

L looks up at you, licking his lips slowly. “May I remove your undergarments?” 

You try to laugh at his formality, but the genuineness in his eyes makes it die in your throat. You cup his face with both hands, leaning forward to kiss him again—sweetly and slow this time. He responds, arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you impossibly closer. Your thighs hit the bed as he pulls you in, hands roaming your back, lips devouring your own.

“Take them off. Please,” you murmur against his mouth. 

He doesn’t break the kiss, but his hands move quickly, your bra unclasped and tugged down nearly too quickly to process. He swipes his tongue through your mouth one more time before pulling back, eyes level with your tits, and they flare white again, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows audibly. 

Your face is so red you’re sure you must be on fire. He’s so intent on taking in every inch of you, and you squirm under the attention, hands resting lightly on his shoulders, tugging at his hair absentmindedly as you try again for a teasing tone. 

“Did you malfunction?” 

“Mmm.” L hums, blinking a few times before tilting his head up at you. “I’m simply examining the view to determine the best way to approach.” 

Your eyebrows knit together in disbelief at how analytical this man has to be 24/7. You rub the bridge of your nose before stepping back just enough to pull your underwear to the ground, stepping out of them and crawling onto the bed. L turns his head over his shoulder to watch you as you settle onto your back into the mound of pillows against the headboard. You hold your hand out. 

“Come on.” 

L’s eyes are nearly obstructed by the shadows of his black locks as he watches you soundlessly over his shoulder for another moment before standing, kicking off his pants and boxers the rest of the way. Your eyes sting as they widen at focusing on his cock again, already standing proud once more as he kneels onto the bed and crawls his way toward you. 

He positions himself next to you on his side, propping himself up on one forearm as the other wraps around you. He pulls your chest flush to his, capturing your lips in another kiss, needier this time. His grip on your waist is like iron as he sucks your tongue, and then wastes no time trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck again. You whimper, squirming and squeezing your thighs together. His throbbing dick is pressing against your stomach, smearing leftover cum over your skin. The thought of it inside of you makes your thighs clench.

“L,” you breathe. 

He freezes when he hears you say his name, mouth at your shoulder. “Hmm?” 

“Please.” Your tone is desperate, and you’re so horny you can’t think to care at this moment. You tug his hair harder this time. “Please. I need you.” 

“Mmm.” His voice rumbles in his throat as he starts moving his tongue back up your neck, darting out between kisses and nibbles. You’re panting now, breath completely stolen from your throat as he kisses you, using the leverage to position himself on top of you. His warmth cages you in, and you gasp into his mouth when his cock nudges your clit. Your hips jerk before you can stop them.

Desperately, you mumble into his mouth. “L. Please. Please.” 

He raises his head enough to gaze at you, head tilting adorably again as he stares. His dark eyes are always so wide, you think. 

His voice is low and you swear you can feel it in your chest when he speaks. 

“What do you need from me?” 

You stare at him, breathing heavily, mouth dry. You reach up to stroke his jaw again, studying his face. “What do you want?” 

His head turns to kiss the palm of your hand. Your wrist. Then he’s looking back at you. 

“I am doing my best to make sure your needs are met,” he says softly. 

You exhale sharply out of your nose. This man is going to drive you crazy. 

His eyes flicker, and he adjusts above you. “Is that wrong?” 

“L. I need you to fuck me. I need you to do whatever you want to me,” you say, words tumbling out in a desperate plea as your legs raise to wrap around his waist. His breath hitches as he snaps his head down between your bodies to watch his straining cock rub against your aching slit. You keep going. “I don’t care about analytics or practicality or data. Just. Fuck. Me.” 

L stares at you, and a real smile spreads across his lips then. Something primal takes over in his eyes as he kisses you deeply, tongue swiping at yours, as he reaches between your bodies and grips his cock, rubbing the tip slowly through your slit. A strangled whimper escapes your throat as you tug his neck down to bite it softly, following each sting with a kiss. Your hips rut to meet him. “Please,” you whisper against his ear. 

You feel his body shiver under your hands, and then he’s pushing in. Slowly at first, the girth of his dick stretching your sopping cunt. He groans low in his throat, and you groan into his neck, and he pauses for a moment, whispering into your hair.

“Are- are you al- alright?” He’s stammering, composure withering away by the second.

“Yes.” The answer is strangled from your lips, your eyelids fluttering as your nails cut into his shoulders, the skin of his neck damp under your mouth. He takes the green light, continuing to push into you until he’s bottomed out inside you. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix, and your legs lock around his waist, keeping him there, relishing the burn as he stretches you out. He’s panting, whimpering uncontrollably into your hair, his forearms shaking slightly beside your head as his muscles lock up. You move your lips against his neck gently in encouragement, trying to keep your own composure even though your hips are begging to jerk into his.

His hand gently comes to grip your jaw, long fingers encasing your face easily as he presses your head away from his neck and back into the pillow. His face comes into view, contorted in pleasure, but still studying your face, perhaps for approval, perhaps to take it in. You whimper softly, one hand gripping the blanket, the other tangling in his hair and pulling him down into another kiss, and you groan when he begins to move.

L’s breaths are extremely heavy as his hips roll, pulling out a few inches before thrusting back into you. You moan louder now, the sudden thrust sending a sharp shock of pleasure up your spine, and his own groan joins yours. Your hands grip his shoulders harder, your eyes fluttering as you watch him. He does it again, slowly coming out, harder going back in. He’s fighting his own urge to let his eyes close, determined to watch every reaction you have, determined to drink up every moment of what you look like when he’s inside you. Groans spill out from his lips, mixed with curses as he picks up his pace. He takes his hand off of your jaw, moving it behind your head to tangle it in your hair. His other forearm holds him up as he finds his pace inside you, steady and firm. 

“Fuck,” he says, raw and throaty as his lips crash against yours desperately. “F-fuck. Fuck, y-you are- so- tight.” 

You can’t stop whimpering with the pace he’s set. You feel so fucking full of him, and you stare at him in awe as he fucks you, eyes never leaving yours, lips parted, groaning. Your tits are crushed against his chest, the friction adding only more pleasure every time his body moves against yours. 

“Oh, god,” you groan, not able to help as your eyes roll back. 

L’s hips snap harder in response, shocking you as your eyes magnetize back to his. His pupils are completely blown out, hand in your hair gripping harder as he gives your head a small shake. “I need you to keep your eyes on me.” 

Your pussy clenches at his order—not a request, like his previous times. An order. The room is filled with the slaps of his hips against your thighs, the squelching of your fluids mixing, and your overlapping groans and pants. He’s kissing you hard again before he mumbles against your lips. 

“Say you will.” 

“I- fuuuuck-” Your eyes start to roll again before you focus them on him. “Fuck, I- I will- I will- L-” 

L speeds up even more when you utter his name, sweat dripping from his black locks and onto your cheeks. He suddenly pushes himself up to his knees, gripping your hips and pulling you forcefully into each thrust. The new angle leaves you breathless, mewling and arching your back as your hands grab uselessly at the sheets on the bed. The muscles in his biceps and forearms flex as he grips you, the SMACK SMACK SMACK of your bodies somehow louder. You moan so loud it’s nearly a scream, your hand flying down to rub desperate circles on your own clit. You’re close, you can feel it, and the way he’s relentlessly ramming into you, muscles taught, mouth agape, pupils blown wide—it’s all too much. 

“I’m- g- L- I- c- I’m go-” 

You can’t even utter a full sentence before you’re squealing, your body locking up as you come around his cock. Stars dance in your vision as waves of pleasure overtake you, back arching as you ride out your orgasm. L fucks you through it, thrusts becoming erratic and sloppy before you feel his own release inside of you. Faintly through your haze you’re astonished that he still had so much to spill, but you can feel the warmth leaking out around his cock, still buried deeply inside you. 

You lie there panting together, bodies slicked with sweat, your head spinning. His head is buried in your neck, and you dislodge your nails from his shoulder to run your fingers through his hair as he tries to catch his breath. Your ankles are still locked around his thin waist, and you realize your thighs are shaking slightly as you slowly unwrap them to lower them onto the bed. He finally moves his hips, pulling his softening dick out of you with an obscene squelching sound, leaving you whimpering from the empty feeling. He slowly pushes himself up to his knees, sitting back on his heels, eyes never leaving your face. You swallow, blinking slowly as you stare up at him through your eyelashes. It takes you a few attempts to speak. 

“That was…so good.”

His eyes flare with your praise, lips cocking slowly into another grin. You can’t help but grin back, a breathy chuckle emitting from you as you prop yourself up on your elbows. When you shift your hips, you feel the wetness there, both from your own release and L’s mixing together. Your face flushes with that classic post-nut clarity—and you realize you’ve just fucked your boss, or rather, your boss fucked you. Extremely well. And you’re completely bare in front of him, and he’s taking in every inch of your body like he’s drawing his own picture in his mind. 

“Yes,” he replies, voice closer to his usual neutral tone now. Large eyes blink back at you. “It was quite good. I don’t feel done yet.” 

Your eyebrows jump slightly at that. “Oh?” 

“There is more I haven’t explored,” he says simply, but you notice the flicker of hunger in his gaze despite his measured tone. He runs his large hands over your thighs before he nudges them apart. You squirm, about to protest, but he locks his gaze on you. 

“Open.” 

You shudder with the finality of his tone—an order, again. You’d seen L order people around before—hell, he’d ordered you around a couple of times, and it’d always made your mind dive straight into the gutter—but for someone who’d never had sex, he was adapting extremely quickly. 

Slowly, you part your legs, allowing his hands to guide you. He shifts onto his stomach, muscles in his shoulders shifting as he settles down between your thighs. You stay propped on your forearms, captivated by the sight and not wanting to miss anything. His dark hair tickles the soft skin on the inside of your leg as his nimble fingers slowly spread you open. You shudder, breath catching at the first contact of his skin against your pussy lips. You can feel how wet you are, and you can only imagine what he’s seeing—his cum leaking out of you, your own arousal glistening, your clit puffy. He’s taking it in like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—and at the same time, like it’s a specimen he’s trying to decode. 

“I’m not a mystery to solve, L,” you say breathlessly, trying for a laugh, but it dies on your throat. 

“Aren’t you?” 

His voice is measured, calm, matter-of-fact. He stares at you, pupils blown wide despite his calm demeanor. 

You can’t make yourself respond, and he lowers his eyes once more. Slowly, he leans forward, breath ghosting over your pussy before his tongue slips out of his mouth and drags one long, flat stroke from your opening to your clit. You groan immediately, eyes fluttering as your head lolls to the side. “Fuck.” 

He’s peering up at you through his hair, a slight smile still gracing his lips. Both arms are wrapped around your thighs, fingers gripping the soft flesh tightly as he keeps you spread open for him. He drags his tongue up your slit again, and you groan louder this time. “Fuck.” The word drags from you in a hiss as you adjust on your elbows, watching as he pulls back just enough to stare at your cunt. You know he can see the fresh wave of arousal leaking out of your hole, now, and you’re trying hard not to squirm as his breath tickles you. He moves one hand from your thigh to your folds, spreading them enough to expose your clit fully with his fingers. You whimper pathetically. “L.” 

“Shhh.” The tip of his tongue flicks your clit once. You twitch. He does it again, and you groan. 

“L, please.” 

He stares at you through long lashes before responding. 

“You aren’t very patient,” he muses quietly, but there is a teasing edge to his tone you almost never hear. It makes you even more flustered as you stammer a response. 

“You’re just teasing me!” 

“I am operating under the assumption that it brings increased sexual pleasure.” 

You open your mouth to whine again, but he wraps his lips around your clit, enveloping in the warm dampness of his mouth as he flicks his tongue more rapidly now. You cry out, back arching and head dropping back as your hips jerk, one arm leaving its position under you to grab at his hair. “Oh- f-fuck, yes-” 

He hums into your pussy, the vibration making you shudder. Your hips grind slightly against his mouth, and you whine in protest as he pops his lips off, giving your slit another few long strokes before he pulls away. He leans his cheek on your thigh, and with the fingers spreading you open he rubs the pad of his thumb over your clit. You jerk again, hand fisting in his hair, your breaths labored. He’s taking his sweet goddamn time, alternating between his hot mouth and his thumb, dipping his tongue into your hole before dragging it back up, then leaning his head against your thigh as he watches you twitch under the press of his fingers. The rhythm builds slowly, tension coiling ever so agonizingly in your lower stomach. You can’t look away from him—the way his dark eyes are locked onto your folds, his sharp jaw ticking once in a while, his breath against your skin, his other fingers gripping hard enough into your thigh to leave marks. Your hips start to move, then— you’re unable to stop as you start to grind against him. Your hand grips harder in his hair, trying to push him into you, and finally, he lets you. L’s mouth latches onto your cunt once more, lapping and sucking now like his life depends on it, and you drop onto your back, unable to support yourself any longer as moans and exclamations spill from your lips. 

“L- fuck- oh- shit- shhhit-” 

L hums against you, lips popping off of your clit to lap at your entrance. “Good.” 

The praise from him—one word, simple, yet it’s too much. You cry out, hand fisting harder in his hair as your body begins to shake, tension coiling impossibly tighter in your lower stomach as you gasp. 

“L- gonna- I’m- fuck- please- don’t- stop- fuck- I-” 

“Come,” he mumbles against your pussy, and you break. It hits you like a freight train, your muscles seizing, mouth agape in a silent scream as you gush all over his face. He never stops, lapping hungrily at everything you give him, and he couldn’t move anyway—not with the grip you’ve got on his hair and the way you’re shoving his face impossibly deeper. 

Your mind is hazy as you come down, twitching as L laps at your overstimulated cunt. You whimper softly, tugging his head away weakly as you pant. “Wa- wait. Sensitive.” 

L hums, finally raising and crawling up your body. His face glistens with sweat and your arousal, and you make a small whimpering noise as his tongue darts out to clean himself off. You wipe your own thumb over his lips with a fucked-out grin. “I made a mess.” 

“You did,” L agrees, and he’s smiling at you, features more relaxed than you’d seen them in awhile. “I quite liked it. You taste…wonderful.” 

“A great compliment coming from a man who loves sweets,” you reply teasingly, but your face is warm as you rub your thumb over his jaw. He nudges his nose against yours, pressing soft kisses to your lips through his words. 

“You taste even better.” 

Your heart is thundering from how intimate it feels as he slides in to lay behind you, pulling your body flush against his with surprising strength. A blanket gets thrown over you from somewhere, and you nuzzle your head comfortably onto his bicep as it wraps around the front of your neck—loosely, but securely. His other hand splays onto your waist, rubbing gently, sending jolts up your body with every movement. 

His breath is warm against your ear as he speaks. “We do need to discuss the nature of our relationship and how it pertains to our work.” 

You hum, half in complaint, but knowing he’s right. You look over your shoulder at him, noses brushing. He’s staring at you so softly that your heart aches as you offer him a small smile. 

“Tomorrow?” 

L’s own lips tug into a grin, pressing against yours in a deep kiss before nuzzling into your neck.

“Tomorrow is fine,” he agrees. 

You smile to yourself, snuggling back into the blankets, his arms locked around you. 

You’ve officially broken the world’s best detective in the best way.

Oh that line? Yeah, that usually earns you consequences.

He tilts his head at you like a puppy. “You gonna follow through,” he murmurs, “or is that just trash talk?”

There’s a challenge in it. Not loud. Not cocky. Jason is too soft—despite his massive, enormous muscles—to let himself be cocky with you, but he always indulges you with some sass.

Jason stops a half-step away from you. Close enough that the space between your bodies feels intentional, like he measured it. Close enough that the air shifts—hot, metallic, thick with oil and ozone and the faint bite of gunpowder that never really leaves him. Your fingers trap his chin between them, forcing his jaw to your eye level and you hate it— but you bite your lower lip so hard you feel your skin tingle.

The garage hums around you. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, one of them flickering just slightly. The Batcycle ticks as it cools, metal settling, protesting. Gotham presses in from outside—sirens somewhere far off, rain threatening but not yet falling.

Jason’s gaze drops. Not all the way. Just enough to register your mouth. The pause is fraction-of-a-second small, but you feel it anyway. He stills after, jaw tightening like he caught himself mid-mistake.

“What is it?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow up instinctively.

And you can’t help it— your hand comes to slap against his ass so you can make him jump a tad closer to you. Because, really, how can you even be expected to behave yourself while watching him screw nails with his fingers instead of screwdrivers? Thinking how he could be using his fingers instead to toy with your clit; one big, plushy thumb coiling tight circles on you while he fucks you with his middle finger instead of working on that stupid bike.

How can you be prompted to ignore how absolute snug his leather jacket fits, ready to burst at the seams when his bulky shoulders threaten to make it explode? When he could be using the same muscle to hold you against his chest while he fucks you from behind just so he can kiss you?

“Jesus—” His hand comes up on instinct, gripping your wrist, not to stop you, just grounding himself. His thumb presses into your pulse as your mouth already has found his “Someone’s horny.”

For a long moment, you let your lips brush his, your teeth softly grazing between your mouths When he finally manages to take a deeper breath though, you pounce, biting his lip into your mouth. And instead of hissing, Jason draws you even closer, his hips slamming against yours through your clothes.

“Your fault.” you whisper against his mouth.

He lets out a sharp laugh that dies halfway in his chest, but he’s smiling. Wide and unguarded. The kind you only get when he’s forgotten to keep the walls up. Not that he usually has his guards up when you’re around.

His hands come alive then—one sliding up your side, fingers splaying like he needs the contact, the other tangling briefly in your hair before he remembers himself and settles, sweetly for your shoulder instead. The kiss turns sloppy fast, uncoordinated, mouths chasing each other, teeth knocking, breath shared and uneven.

Your intent is to kiss him silly, until both of your chins are absolutely coated in drool, and you absolutely manage to deliver.

The bike behind him gives an irritated whine as one of the screwdrivers he rested on the seat falls to the ground, like it’s been personally offended.

Jason breaks the kiss just long enough to glance back at it, then at you—eyes dark, pupils blown, lips red and swollen.

“…Guess the bike can wait,” he says.

Jason’s gaze flicks to your mouth again—this time he doesn’t stop himself at all. Doesn’t hide it. His breath shifts, deeper now, slower, like he’s trying to steady something that’s already tipped. He wants you so bad when you’re set on freaking him out, it would be insane to try and fight it.

“Fuck—” he starts, then exhales through his nose, frustrated. “If you’re gonna—”

He doesn’t finish that either.

You close the distance for him.

It’s barely anything—just enough that your breath brushes his cheek, your chest almost touching his. You feel him go still again, like a loaded weapon set on a table. Waiting.

“Stop talking Jay,” you whisper. “I need you naked right now or I'm gonna explode!”

For a heartbeat, he just looks at you. Really looks. Like he’s weighing the risk. Like he knows exactly how badly this could end— someone walking in on you, you are in belfry after all— and he’s choosing it anyway.

Then his hand slides from your wrist to your jaw.

He cups your face with a care that doesn’t match his size at all, thumb resting just under your cheekbone. He hesitates there—one last pause, one last chance to pull away.

He doesn’t take it. Of course.

The kiss he gives you is slow. Hungry, but not rushed to its core. Jason leans in like he’s testing the ground beneath his feet, lips brushing yours first, barely there, a question more than an answer. When you don’t pull back, when you lean in too, shoulders dropping like you're melting in his touch, he exhales against your mouth and deepens it.

Warm. Firm. Careful in a way that feels almost dangerous.

His thumb shifts, tilting your chin up, keeping the angle just right.

The kiss breaks for a fraction of a second, just long enough for him to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. "Naked, huh?" he rumbles, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that you feel in your own chest. You take it upon yourself to kiss the rough pad of his thumb, the coarse skin on the inside of his palm and then, even more carefully, the inside of his wrist "You have any idea how much gear I'm wearing? It’s a process."

He doesn't wait for an answer. His hands move from your jaw to your waist, his large palms spanning nearly the whole width of you. In one fluid, effortless motion, he hoists you up, seating you on the edge of the metal workbench.

The cold bite of the steel against your thighs is a sharp contrast to his body heat. Tools rattle behind you—wrenches and screwdrivers clattering as you’re shoved back into his workspace. Jason crowds into the space between your knees, his heavy boots locking you in.

"You're gonna get grease on your clothes," he warns, teasingly, though he’s already reaching for the hem of your shirt, his eyes dark with a hunger that says he couldn't care less if the whole place burned down around you.

"That’s even hotter," you breathe, tugging at his leather jacket, pulling it off his shoulders.

He lets out a rough, truncated sound—halfway between a laugh and a growl—and dives back in, his mouth finding the sensitive dip of your neck while his grease stained fingers fumble with the buttons of your pants. When his palms finally make contact with your bare skin, the heat is staggering.

He breaks the kiss just enough to strip off his leather jacket completely, throwing it blindly over the Batcycle. He looks like a storm—hair mussed, eyes dark and blown out until the blue is just a thin, electrified ring around his pupils.

You're just a puddle for him really.

"You being in civilians tonight was supposed to be for easy access?" he laughs, his voice vibrating deep in his chest, you hum in response, casting kisses everywhere around his mouth. "Unfair."

“Unfair?” You tilt your head back as his mouth migrates to your jawline, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. “I think it’s a tactical advantage, Jay. You’re the one who’s over-prepared.”

Jason huffs a breath against your skin, a dry, jagged sound as he kisses your earlobe. “Tactical advantage,” he repeats, the words vibrating against your throat. “Yeah. I’ll show you a tactical advantage.”

He reaches back without looking, his large hand sweeping a row of heavy sockets and a torque wrench off the bench. They hit the concrete floor with a series of loud, metallic clangs that echo through the rafters, but Jason doesn't even blink. He uses the cleared space to lean over you, his weight pressing you back into the cold steel until you’re lying flat, your legs naturally hooking around his waist to keep from sliding.

The contrast is dizzying—the freezing metal against your spine and the scorching, solid bulk of him pinning you down.

“You’re gonna be covered in grease,” he mutters again, but this time it’s not a warning—it’s a promise. His hands, rough and calloused, slide under the hem of your sports bra. The moment his palms hit your ribs, you gasp. His skin is searing, and the faint scent of motor oil on him feels strangely right in the middle of this chaos.

He doesn't waste time. With a strength that feels effortless, he tugs the fabric up and over your head, tossing it somewhere toward the darkness of the rafters. His eyes rake over you, dark and possessive, before he drops his head to the valley of your chest, his stubble grazing your skin.

“Jason—” you breathe, your fingers tangling in the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck.

“I got you,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into that gravelly register that always makes your toes curl. “Stay right here.”

He pulls back just enough to deal with his own gear. The heavy tactical belt hits the floor with a dull thud, followed by the metallic clack of his holsters. He moves with a frantic sort of efficiency, his movements sharp and hungry. When he finally shoves his shirt off, the flickering fluorescent light overhead catches the map of his body—the jagged lines of scars, the heavy swell of his chest, and the sheer, intimidating breadth of him.

He looks like a wrecking ball in human form, and he’s looking at you with so much tenderness, like he’s more than eager for you to let him do anything to you.

He crowds back into your space, his bare chest slick with a light sheen of sweat as it meets yours. The friction is obliterating—your nipples drag along his chest and for all that’s worth it, you suppress the moan that threatens to spill over. He hooks his hands under your thighs, dragging you to the very edge of the workbench until your hips meet his.

“Now,” he pants, his forehead dropping against yours, his nose brushing yours in the dark. “About that biting threat.”

Jason captures your lower lip between his teeth, pulling just hard enough to make you whine, before his mouth devours yours again. This time, there’s no hesitation. It’s all teeth and tongues fighting and the heavy weight of him trapping you on your spot.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s see.”

One of his hands stays anchored on your hip, his thumb digging into the dip of your waist to hold you still, while the other slides down, shimmying underneath the band of your cotton panties. His fingers, calloused, scarred, tap their way over your mound, teasing just slightly when he feels the hood of your clit on his pads. His whole hand cups you under your underwear, middle finger circling a tight circle at the sopping entrance of your pussy. 

When his thumb finds your clit, the contact is electric—a blunt, heavy pressure that makes your back arch off the cold metal. 

“Wet already?”

“Forty-five minutes of staring at you screw nails with your hand baby,” you rumbles, his voice dropping into a low, satisfied vibration against your throat. “I almost bust a nut at the sight.”

And fuck, Jason loves what he hears. He loves when you talk so dirty to him.

His thumb hooks under the edge of your panties, dragging the fabric down just enough to get it out of his way, his palm never losing contact with your skin. He’s being so very delicate; Jason always does delicate even when he’s this far gone. He’s being thorough, his fingers slicking with your heat as he maps out exactly how much you want him, teasing the tip of his finger at your entrance ever so occasionally, until your pussy pulses around nothing but thin air.

Your breath hitches, a sharp, broken sound that echoes off the metal cabinets. 

Jason is pinning you down, though while his fingers do their work, his heavy thighs forcing yours wider until you’re completely open to him.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs. It’s not a question. He can feel the fine tremors running through your thighs, the way your muscles jump under his touch.

He leans down, his mouth finding the sensitive curve where your neck meets your shoulder, and he bites—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave a mark. He mirrors the threat you gave him earlier, his teeth grazing over your pulse point, trailing down a biting path on his way to one of your nipples, until you’re whimpering his name.

“If you hadn’t responded to my biting threat I would have dropped to my knees and I'd be begging you to put your cock in my mouth.”

“You wanted my attention this badly?” He pulls back just an inch, his eyes dark, hooding with a dangerous kind of intent. “You’ve got it. All of it.”

He slides two fingers inside you with such blunt pressure that makes your hips jerk upward, seeking more. He’s steady, his rhythm slow and torturous, his thumb never leaving your clit from the moment he finds it, grinding in tight, heavy circles that make your vision go blurry at the edges.

All the while he keeps kissing between your hardened nipples like a man starved.

The garage feels like it’s shrinking; the image of you, on your knees, begging for his cock is enough of a mind game to make him so painfully hard, that he feels his cock throbbing inside his pants. Instead of acting on it though, he’s watching you, his jaw tight, his own breathing coming in jagged, heavy pulls as he watches your face come apart under his hand.

“Jason, please,” you gasp, your fingers digging into the hard muscle of his forearms, trying to pull him closer, trying to bridge the last bit of distance.

He lets out a sharp, ragged breath, his forehead dropping against yours again. “Not yet,” he grunts, his fingers curling deeper, hitting a spot that makes your entire body go taut. “I want to see you come on this table before I even think about getting these pants off.”

He increases the pace, his hand moving with almost mechanical precision. And it’s pointless to try to hold it in, he knows every spot that makes you gasp and moan, anyway. Knows when to slow down the pace, or pick it up again. And fuck, he knows that had it been any other day, you would already be pushing his head between your thighs, urging him to suck your clit between his lips.

But the sound your pussy makes for just his fingers tonight?—the wet, rhythmic friction as he fucks them into you—is drowned out only by the blood rushing in his ears and the needy sounds coming from the back of your throat.

Your breath is hitching in short, desperate stabs, your hips stuttering against his hand as the tension coils into a tight, screaming knot in your lower belly, your pussy pulses around his fingers like a vice and then—

Then, abruptly, he stops.

The sudden absence of his touch is like a physical blow beneath the belt. You let out a broken, frustrated sound, your eyes snapping open to find him hovering over you. He’s shaking like you did moments before—not just his hands, but his whole frame. The cool composure he usually wears like armor has completely shattered. His teeth are bared, his jaw worked so tight you can see the muscle jumping in his cheek.

"Jason—" you gasp, reaching for him, your fingers clawing at the hard muscle of his shoulders. "Don't stop. Please."

"I can't," he rasps, his voice a raw, jagged mess, as his eyes betray his exact words, lowering to where his fingers are toying with your slit. "Fuuuck—I can't just watch you. I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind baby.”

He pushes back from the bench just far enough to deal with the rest of his gear, his movements frantic, almost violent in their urgency. His heavy tactical pants and boxers are shoved down and discarded, hitting the concrete with a heavy thud of fabric and metal buckles.

His cock, free of any restraints and oozing in pre-cum, slaps heavy on his stomach.

When he moves back into your space, he doesn’t wait. He can't. He grabs your thighs, his grip bruisingly firm as he hitches your legs even higher over his shoulders, opening you up completely to the dim light of the garage.

He’s huge, intimidating in size, even, and pulsing with a heat that feels like it could melt the steel beneath you. He settles between your knees, the head of his cock catching against your entrance, slicking itself in and along the mess he already made with his fingers.

"Babe, look at me," he pleads, his voice dropping into a guttural growl. “How do you want it?”

You force your eyes to meet his. “Jason, if you don’t break my back with the meanest backshots right now, I swear to fucking god—”

He stops. The calculation in his eyes dies right then and there, replaced by something dark, jagged, and entirely unhinged.

"Screw this," he rasps, the words catching in his throat.

He doesn't just pull his hand away; he drags you off the edge of the workbench. Your feet hit the concrete for only a split second before he’s spinning you around. He shoves you back down, chest-first this time, your palms skidding across the cold steel of the table. The metal bites into your skin, but you’re barely aware of it because Jason is right there like a wall of scorching heat pressing right into your spine.

He kisses your shoulder, the nape of your neck and trails a series of sloppy pecks down your back, his tongue darting out on every single spot, until he reaches your ass. His broad hands spread you open and you arch onto him, moaning in the brattiest tone you can muster, just to urge him.

It only earns you a hard slap on the ass.

"Stay. Right. There," he whispers, his voice a warning and a plea all at once as he darts out his tongue to lick a clean stripe across your pussy, eager to catch the bead of slick that had been threatening to drip down your thighs.

You gulp in utter heat when he moans at the taste, but before you can arch your back further against his face, you feel him get up from behind you.

Jason’s hands return to you with vengeance. He hooks his fingers deep into the soft flesh of your hips, his grip so bruisingly firm it anchors you to the spot and you eel the throbbing tip of his cock pressing against your pulsing pussy. He’s trembling, you’re trembling and you just can’t take it anymore. You just want to cum on his cock for fuck’s sake.

"You want 'mean'?" he rasps, his voice a low rumble right against your ear as his thumbs tug your soaking folds open. "Fine by me.."

He lunges forward, burying himself inside you in one deep, staggering surge.

All air leaves your lungs in a broken, high-pitched cry. He bottoms out instantly, the sheer force of the impact sending a shockwave through your body that makes your elbows buckle against the steel. You barely have time to register the fullness before he’s pulling back—only to drive back in even harder.

He starts with brutal, almost mechanical rhythm. Clack. Clack. Clack. The sound of his heavy boots scuffing the concrete and the rhythmic thud of his hips hitting yours echoes off the rafters. The workbench, heavy-duty as it is, begins to protest. It groans, sliding an inch, then two, across the floor as Jason pours every ounce of him into every hit.

"Jason—!" you sob, your fingers scrambling for purchase on the surface underneath you, knocking over a tray of copper washers that scatter like metallic rain.

"Fuck— you’re so fucking tight, so wet,” he moans, his voice thick with unhinged hunger. “Perfect fucking pussy baby.”

He reaches forward, one hand leaving your hip to coil into the hair at the base of your skull, tugging your head back. He wants to see the way your eyes roll back, the way your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. "I was just... trying to work… And you’ve only been thinking about my dick."

“Yeah, yeah i have. And i still want it in my mouth Jay.”

The workbench screeches against the concrete, harsh and metallic as Jason’s weight and momentum force it back another few inches. He doesn't care about the floor, the tools, or the damage to the shop. He’s focused entirely on the way you’re taking him, on how your pussy squelches and floods around him, on the way your body is being jolted forward with every rhythmic, punishing hit of his hips, every yelp you let out that comes from the back of your throat.

"You want it in your mouth?" he rasps, his voice jagged, unadulterated. He leans down, his chest crushing against your back, his sweat-slicked skin sticking to yours. "Greedy. You’re so fucking greedy."

He doesn't stop. If anything, the pace turns more brutal. He’s delivering on every bit of your 'break my back' request, his hips slamming into yours with a sound like a physical collision. Plop, plop, plop. Every backshot is calculated to bottom out, one gradually harder, faster than the other..

He’s hitting you so bone-deep that your vision is going hazy at the edges, your forehead bumping against the cold steel of the bench with every fuck of his cock into you from behind.

“Please, Jay—please—”

“Please what sweetheart?” he whines, his voice dropping into a guttural, dark register.

He adjusts his grip, both hands now bracketing your waist, his thumbs digging into the soft skin of your belly to anchor you as he pulls back nearly all the way—before slamming home again. “You want me to stop? Or you want me to finish what you started?”

He doesn’t give you time to answer. He’s a storm of muscle and heat behind you, his breathing coming in jagged, desperate hitches. Every time he bottoms out, you feel the vibration of it even in your teeth. Your pussy slick, a swollen mess working around him, begging for the release that’s coiling tighter and tighter in your gut.

“I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah baby, come on my cock,” Jason kisses the back of your neck “just like you wanted.”

Jason lets out a sound that’s close to a groan, his fingers bruising your hips as he delivers three final, punishing thrusts—each one deeper, meaner, until he’s buried to the hilt. He stalls there, his entire frame going rigid, a choked-off shout tearing from his throat as he finally spills into you, his weight collapsing onto your back.

The garage is silent for a heartbeat, save for the hum of the lights and your shared, ragged gasps. Then, Jason pulls out with a wet, lingering sound of ‘plop’ that makes you whimper, the sudden loss of him feeling just a little overbearing right now.

Before you can even try to catch your breath, his hands are under your armpits, hauling you up and spinning you around. He doesn’t let your feet touch the ground; he just hitches your thighs over his shoulders and settles himself between your knees, his length still hard, still weeping, and looking absolutely lethal under the flickering fluorescent light.

He looks wrecked. His hair is a mess, his eyes are blown out to black, and he’s looking at your mouth with a terrifying sort of focus.

“You said you wanted it,” he rasps, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip to pull it down. “Show me.”

He doesn't wait. He crowds into you, his leaking tip pressing against your lips while you’re literally folded in half. He watches you, his jaw tight, waiting for you to wrap your tongue around his pulsing cock.

He reaches out, his thumb catching a stray tear on your cheek before sliding down to trace your lower lip—the one he’d bitten earlier. It’s swollen, pulsing, and parted as you pant for air.

"You said you wanted it," he rumbles, his gaze dropping to your mouth. He isn't asking, like he usually does; he’s giving you exactly what you literally begged for.

Jason looks down at you, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair once more—not to pull, but to guide.

"Well?" he murmurs, a new challenge sparking in those blue eyes. "I'm not gonna be the only one who's distracted. I want you thinking about the taste of us all fucking day."

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2026. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

A/N: if you liked this just know this is GK!Jason, give than man some love UGH I love him.

Likes and reblogs are so appreciated but comments are the fuel my heart needs to keep pumping fics like this

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