#freak shit

The auction was hidden beneath the illusion of extravagance. Above ground, it was a high-profile Gotham fashion event—glittering with elite influencers, foreign investors, and too many champagne flutes balanced on too-thin fingers.

But below the stage, behind mirrored walls and beneath silken drapes, was the truth: a rotating selection of stolen tech, rare weapons, smuggled magic, and “exclusive clientele” that were, apparently, too powerful to touch. And right at the center of it all was you and Dick Grayson. You and him. And the walk that would undo everything.

The first time you saw Dick again after months of silence… He was ten minutes late, annoyingly calm, and wearing the wrong pants.

"Let me guess," you said, not even glancing up from the rack of hand-stitched blazers. "You stopped to rescue a cat from a burning building. Or flirt with a barista. Or maybe both?"

He laughed, that familiar sound that used to rattle your self-control. “You forgot ‘stop a black-market weapons deal in the Diamond District,’” he said, easing into the dressing area with the kind of grace that should’ve been illegal. “But yeah, the cat was cuter.”

You finally turned to look at him. Mistake number one. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, probably on purpose, and his smile had that particular tilt to it: a mix of charm and apology. And those damn eyes. Ocean-blue and too damn knowing. They flicked to your hands, your mouth, your outfit—absorbing everything like he always did.

“What?” you snapped, folding your arms. “Forget what I look like when I’m not yelling at you?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “That’s actually my favorite version.” You held his stare for two seconds longer than you meant to. Then you turned back to the rack. “You’re here to play runway model, not walk memory lane. Get your ass into the fitted pants before I change my mind.” He whistled low. “Still mad I ghosted, huh?”

“I’m not mad,” you said sweetly. “I just find it fascinating how a grown man can leap across rooftops, dodge bullets, and still somehow be deathly allergic to returning a text.” He winced slightly. Not enough to satisfy you, but enough to keep the fire burning.

"Look, I didn’t want to drag you into the mess," he said, softer now. "There were things I couldn’t explain, and I figured it was safer—" You cut him off with a wave. “Don’t care. Don’t want to hear it. You walked away, remember? Just like you always do.”

His smile faltered, then faded entirely. “…You always watch me leave,” he said, almost under his breath. You hated that it hit you. Right where he knew it would. And then he smirked again—pivoting, as always, from vulnerability back to charm. “So what do you think?” he asked, striking a pose in his current pants — the wrong pants, mind you. “Do I pull these off?”

“Not even a little,” you said flatly, snatching the correct pair from the hanger. “Put these on. And try not to break Gotham’s collective brain when you hit that runway.” He took the pants, brushed your fingers on purpose, and leaned just a little closer. “If I do,” he murmured, “you’ll take the credit, right? Since you’re the one dressing me to kill.”

You pretended his words didn't make you shiver, but now wasn't the time.

You stood at the edge of the bustling prep area, clipboard in hand, headset buzzing with last-minute changes. But none of it mattered. Because when Dick Grayson stepped onto that runway, tailored midnight-blue suit hugging every line, eyes cutting through the crowd like headlights, the world paused. It was straight out of a movie.

He moved like he owned the moment. Like the spotlight was just another streetlight to dance under. Nothing in your training prepared you for the sight of him. Every step is fluid, lethal, and smooth as silk. He wasn’t a model; he was a weapon, and he was wearing your design.

You swallowed hard. Goddamn him…

It was a slow burn of motion and magnetism, his body sculpted by shadow and spotlight. The suit— your suit—fits like sin itself. It's a dark navy with obsidian threading, subtle enough for the naked eye but glimmering under a flash. Cut low at the chest, hugging the lines of his torso, a whisper of rebellion against traditional formality. And he’s looking at you. Not the crowd, not the buyers, not the high rollers holding hidden paddles for illegal bids. But you.

As he walks—no, prowls—down the runway, his gaze never strays. Every step was a conversation: Do you see me now? Did you miss this? Are you still pretending you don’t want it?

Your breath catches, your heart racing as if going into a heart attack. The world blurs around the edges. That was until—chaos struck. Just as he reaches the end of the walk, the lights flicker once. A coded signal. You know it immediately; the auction is beginning.

“You didn’t tell me they were selling an energy core designed by WayneTech,” you hiss, dragging him into a side hallway behind a curtain of velvet. His back hits the wall. You’re close, too close, but you don’t back off, rather inching in. He exhales, lips twitching. “Was gonna tell you after the encore.”

“Dick.”

“Hey,” he says, voice lowering. “It’s not like I planned for them to use a fashion show as a front. But now that I’m here… we improvise.” You glare at him in silence. He doesn’t flinch; his eyes slowly flick to your lips. “I saw you watching me,” he says softly. You scoff, but your voice wavers with little confidence. “You were strutting like a damn peacock.”

“And you liked it.”

“…Shut up.”

His smile turns devilish. “You always get like this when you’re turned on and mad at me.” You shove his chest, not hard, but enough to let him know you're not playing. Except your hands don’t leave his suit, and his don’t leave your waist. For a moment, everything stills. Again. What is up with this? Then he leans in, mouth brushing your ear.

“I only have a few minutes before I have to intercept a buyer in the west wing,” he murmurs. “But if you don’t want to wait anymore…”

You inhale sharply. "Don't tease me," you whisper. "Not unless you mean it." His voice drops. The flirty edge disappears, and what replaces it? A raw and unfiltered longing. “I’ve always meant it,” he says. “You just never let me prove it.”

His hands slowly slide around your waist until your back hits the wall, too. There’s no air between you now. Only months of missed calls and unspoken confessions, but you want to kiss those pink lips. You want to take his damn suit off piece by piece— you designed it, after all.

He leans in again, mouth brushing yours, and stops. “Say the word,” he murmurs. “And I’ll forget the mission for one night. Just one.” Your hand's fist is in his lapels. You hate him, but, god, you need him.

BZZZZZT.

His earpiece crackles. Oracle’s voice, cutting in sharply. “Nightwing, buyers’s on the move. You have sixty seconds.” His forehead drops to yours. Frustrated and desperate. “Damn it,” he sighs.

You close your eyes. Try to calm the fire in your blood and the thrill that sent a heartbeat to your core. “…Go,” you whisper. “But you better come back.” His fingers skim your cheek. “Always,” he promises. And just like always, he walks away. But this time? You follow him with your eyes. And when he turns back, just before vanishing into the dark… He’s still watching you.

…

There are exactly twenty minutes until you're supposed to walk onstage and take your bow as the head designer. Which makes this —him— the worst idea. But when Dick Grayson slams the dressing room door behind him and shoves his earpiece deep into his jacket pocket, you know the decision's already been made. He’s out of breath with his cheeks flushed and hair tousled. “That’s it,” he pants. “I’m done pretending I can focus on anything else tonight.”

“You intercepted the buyer?” you ask, stepping back just enough so he couldn't hear your heart rattling within your chest. “Yeah,” he nods. “Swapped the intel. Knocked out two guards. Didn’t get shot. High score.”

“And your reward is barging into my dressing room?”

His smirk goes crooked, and his head tilts. “No. My reward is you looking at me like you’re two seconds from tearing this suit off with your teeth.” You blink and then scoff. “You’re delusional.” He closes the space between you in three long strides. “Then make me hallucinate harder.”

It's exciting, hands in hair, mouths crashing excitedly together. The heat between you is like fabric and friction and fire. His suit jacket—your suit jacket— rustles under your fingers, the tailored lines warping as you grab him and pull. “You're wrinkling my masterpiece,” you mutter against his mouth with a hiss. “Good,” he growls. “Maybe you'll have to make me another one.”

His hands are everywhere. Gliding under your shirt, gripping your waist, then up to your throat, not choking, just holding—possessive, reverent, but lost. When he backs you into the mirror, you gasp, and he drinks in the sound of oxygen. But the moment he reaches behind his neck and tugs hard at something hidden under the collar, you pull back.

And immediately burst into laughter. Because under the elegant suit? The Nightwing suit… is still on. “Tactical layering?” you snort, head dropping. “Seriously?” He groans. “I didn’t have time to take it off.”

“You never have time, Dick. Not to call, not to stay, and apparently not to remove your ridiculous birdsuit.”

“Hey,” he says, mock-offended, breath still shallow. “This is iconic.”

“It’s clingy.”

“So are you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

You hook your fingers under the utility belt and drag it down, peeling the skintight suit from underneath the runway outfit. It's an awkward, tangled mess of Kevlar, spandex, and silk lining. “God, there are too many zippers,” you mutter, shoving one sleeve down.

“Bet you say that to all the vigilantes.”

“Only the hot ones.”

He huffs out a laugh, and then you're both quiet, staring at each other, the tension thick with want and everything unspoken. His voice drops. “You don’t have to pretend this is just a quickie, y'know.”

“Then stop acting like it has to be.”

He kisses you again, but slower this time, a little deeper. His fingers trail up your sides, under your shirt, sliding fabric away from your skin. “I want all of you,” he whispers against your jaw. “Not just this. Not just tonight.”

“Then prove it,” you breathe, undoing his suit pants. “Right now. Before they call my name.” He pauses for a moment before flashing a toothy grin.

“Oh. So this is what it's like to date a designer.”

“I’m not dating you.”

“You’re definitely about to fuck me.”

“Semantics.”

The next five minutes are a blur of kisses too hot to be gentle, fingers fumbling with fabric, and you swearing every time a perfectly placed seam rips. His mouth is everywhere—throat, collarbones, behind your ear, whispering things that should not be this tender when he's pressed between your thighs like a man possessed.

“I knew this suit was dangerous,” you pant, rolling your hips against him. “You designed a weapon,” he groans, breath-catching. “I’m just… following instructions,” an excuse hidden behind smiling cheeks.

The desk creaks, another light flickers, and your hair is a mess. His gloves are somewhere on the floor. And through it all, the two of you move together like this has been coming for years. Because it has. This isn’t just a release; it's a reunion of sorts. It's: You left. It's: I still waited. It's: This isn’t over when the zipper comes up.

"How fast can you come?" he mutters, breath hot against your collarbone, as he hikes your leg up onto his hip. You arch toward him. “You offering to set a record?” He grins something sharp and teasing, but there’s heat in his eyes. Not just lust, but aching… and maybe yearning.

His hands slide over your thighs, palms rough from training but gentle now. His fingers barely brush the seam of your panties, and you jolt with just the slightest twitch of your hips. He smiles against your throat—a wicked, reverent thing. "There it is," he murmurs. "Still know every little switch that flips you." Your panties are pushed aside, and he exhales sharply as his fingers stroke over your puffy, slick folds—almost in awe. As if golden gates had just parted for him, and all his desires lay in his wake. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked.”

"You're late," you hiss before getting cut off with a kiss. Your teeth clash as tongues tangle in slippery heat. He slides two digits inside you without warning, and your breath stutters against his mouth. You can feel the desperation in his touch and the urgency in his movements.

His fingers slide inside you, curling to hit that spot deep within that makes you see stars. You moan, your hips bucking against his hand. His hand almost went numb as it basked in the silken warmth of your cunt as its nectar coated his palm. His forearm shifted beneath your weight, every stroke caressing a new inch. Every few pumps—his fingers take a new shape to stretch you out. Every second is being savored. "You gonna let me fuck you on this desk?" he says, voice thick. "Or should I put you on your knees first?" You bite his lower lip. “I’ll decide,” you whisper, pulling him in by the lapels.

He’s thick and hot in your hand when you reach for him. His cock is heavy, flushed, and already leaking at the tip. There's a slight purple hue, like his balls would bust if he didn't have you here and now. He groans low when you stroke him, your thumb circling his head, dragging down the length. His hips twitch against your touch. He chuckles—almost instinctively —as his nerves short-circuit, his eyes twitching. “Bossy,” he murmurs. “Always had a thing for your hands.”

“You're not exactly subtle yourself,” you smirk, squeezing a little harder. Causing him to suck in a breath. His hand tightens around your thigh. His thumb circles your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you in a rhythm that’s driving you wild. You can feel the orgasm building, the pressure coiling tight in your abdomen. Shivers scale your spine, your head slamming back against the mirror as hushed, yet pornographic moans crawl from your lips.

"You gonna sit up here and look pretty, then?" he rasps, stepping between your legs and lining himself up against your entrance. The head of his cock teases at your slick, not yet pushing in—just pressing, waiting. You glance at the clock, and there's seven minutes ‘til curtain. “Hurry,” you breathe.

“You don’t tell me twice.”

He rasps, sinking into you slowly enough to make you claw at the desk, his hips grinding against yours, messy and hungry. There's a slight pop from the ring of muscle, blanketing him in a new warmth. It's thick and deep, stretching you full. You both groan at once. Your hands scramble for purchase at the edge of the desk, the lapels of his suit jacket—anything as he buries himself to the hilt. Makeup products clatter loudly on the floor, yet fall silent between the labored gasps you share. His hands are everywhere. Gripping your thighs, shoving fabric aside, palming your ass hard enough to leave bruises, desperately parting anything in his way.

“Oh my god—” you gasp, causing him to still with his cock pulsing inside you. “Too much?” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips brushing your cheek with a gentleness. “No,” you breathe, digging your nails into his back. “Move.” He obeys. The pace starts rough and frantic, almost the kind of thrust born from months of unresolved tension. The desk rattles beneath you, your back arching with each push. His hands grip your hips, then your waist, and then one rises to cradle the back of your head as he leans in to kiss you through it. It's like he doesn't know what to do, yet he does it all so well at once. The silk lining of his jacket burns against your bare skin, sliding rough where your body’s slick and trembling.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growls against your mouth. You moan, dragging your nails down his spine. “Bet you say that to all your stylists.”

“Only the ones who fuck me like they own me.” You clench around him—hard, juices sputtering—and he gasps. “Shit. Don’t do that or I’ll—”

“Already close?” You tease, sweat beading at your temples. “Grayson, I expected better.”

He pulls out almost completely, letting the tip of his cock rest against the rim, then slams back in hard enough to jolt a moan from your throat. “Keep talking,” he pants, “and I’ll bend you over the chair next.” His thrusts are slow and deep, just to tease, but hungry. His lips find your throat, ghosting over your pulse. Your chest, where one hand cups your breast, mouth latching to a nipple as he rolls his hips against you, every movement built to ruin you. You groan, clinging to one another. “Say it,” he whispers. “Tell me you still want me.”

“Fuck, Dick—”

“Say it.”

You kiss him instead—all teeth and tongue and breathless confession. “I wanted this every night you left.”

His forehead drops to yours. “Never again.” You’re so close. And he knows it. He can feel it in the way your legs lock around him. The way your velvety ridges contract around his cock. The way your pussy kisses every vein, caressing him like he never left. His jaw tightened, truly trying his best to remain quiet.

Yet, the desk thuds against the wall with every frantic thrust, papers scattering, a mug crashing to the floor. It's a riot of noise. Panting, gasping, the cascading sound of skin colliding—and Dick’s voice, low and rough in your ear: "You gonna come for me right here, baby? Gonna soak my cock while half of Gotham waits for your big debut?" At this point, you're driven back against the mirror with each pummel of his pelvis. There was a tension and risk bleeding in every frantic breath that made it impossible to think. The door rattled once, perhaps someone brushing past or trying to enter. You stiffened upon instinct, but Dick's pearly whites beamed against your neck. "You make the prettiest fucking mess, y'know that?" Oh, this fucker. He's trying to embarrass you.

The rhythmic rocking of his hips begins to take a new shape, purely focusing on making you cum. Wet strings of arousal strung to his pelvis, his cock absolutely smothered in combined juices. He could practically taste it. He wished he could take his time with you—spread you open and suck on that clit ‘til you’re limp and shaking, pleading and praising him. But none of that mattered, not as he watched his dick disappear and return wetter than the last.

Just as your orgasm builds and tenses, he reaches between you, rubbing your clit in tight, expert circles. “Come for me,” he breathes. “I want to feel you lose it. Right here. Right now.” He grows frantic as his hips stutter when slamming into yours with desperate but bruising force, and you cling to him, your legs trembling, your climax burning so close you can't form words. Dick buries his face in your shoulder, "Cum for me. Fuck, please — let go — I need to feel you lose it on me," He says, voice ragged.

That mind-numbing restraint snaps within. A sudden heat unfurls within as your body lurches forward into him. Your guttural groan is muffled by his shoulder as you cling to him—pulsing around his cock. He follows with a broken sound, knees nearly buckling and hips still rolling as he spills into you. He purposefully nuzzled himself—hoping he could view it drip out later. His dick felt raw.

Now, it's just silence and sweat and eyes boring deeply into one another. You slide your fingers through his hair, still trying to come down. “…You ruined my underwear,” you whisper. He smiles against your skin. “You ruined me.”

A knock. “Designer to the stage in three minutes!” You both groan. His head drops against your shoulder, and you bite back a laugh. “I have to go,” you whisper. He pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes. “Can I see you after?”

“Not this time.” He presses one more kiss, softer than all the rest—to the corner of your mouth. “Break a leg,” he murmurs. You adjust your shirt, and he zips up before you toss him his wrinkled suit jacket. He catches it midair, grinning as he helps you fix your clothes, pressing soft kisses to your jaw as he zips you up and tucks himself back into the damn suit.

You both look wrecked. Perfect. And as he slips out the back door—one last look over his shoulder, he says, “You're still the best thing I’ve ever worn.” You smile, smitten, before calling out to him. "I know you'll be watching, and you better stay close. Because next time? I'm on top."

A/N: Feel free to leave comments and suggestions! This is my first DC related post.... woooo Dick Grayson the man you are.

You told him yes and he wasted no time.

your shorts were off in an instant. leaving you in a lacy black underwear and your bra. Chris took a second to take it in. His best friend, who he’s wanted for so long, right in front of him. Ready to get completely ruined. He got up from where he was laying on the bed and moved toward the end of it.

“What’re doing? Did you change your mind?” you asked nervously. Praying for a no.

He looked at you like you were crazy and climbed over your body, grabbed your chin, looked you in the eyes.

“Change my mind? And give up the chance to fuck you? You’re funny. I was gonna eat you out, can i do that baby?”

You nodded slightly

“That a yes?”

“yes” it came out pathetically. but what else could you do?

Making his way back to the end of the bed, he grabbed your legs and pulled them towards him. You both let out a small laugh. He made eye contact with you as he got down on his knees and pulled your panties down to your ankles. Slowly running his hands up to your thighs, he spread you open.

“So beautiful” He was practically drooling

Peppering small kisses on your upper thigh. He got higher and higher until finally giving your clit a kiss. That was when you fell back and your hand fell to chris’s hair.

“Mmmph- Fuck Chris”

His hands were holding your thighs open and digging into your flesh. His tongue plunging in and out of you at an impossible rate, his face so deep that his nose pushes up against your clit, building up your high. Your helpless moans and whimpers only turning him on more as he continued to devour you. Chris could tell you were close by the shaking and by your legs threatening to close due to so much stimulation

“Gonna cum, baby? Hmmm? Gonna cum for me?” You let out a moan in response.

“Come on that’s not an answer baby. Words, or i’ll stop”

“Yes, Chris! Yes m’gonna cum! so-so close” another helpless whimper escaping

Doubling his efforts, Chris brings you closer and closer to your breaking point. He reaches his hand up to grab your boobs, grasping for anything and everything on your body to convince himself that this is real. In no time you came, Chris working you through your high.

He kissed all the way up your body until he reached your lips.

“Did so good for me, so proud of you” he said while pushing hair behind your ear. “not done tho”

“no?”

“not at all. that alright?”

You answered him by climbing over him, straddling his lap, taking off his shirt and grinding against him like it was the last thing you’d do

“that’s my girl”

Chris could say the pledge of allegiance and you’d probably cum.

“mmm take these off” you said untying his sweatpants

They’re off in an instant. You hovered over him, trying to immediately put it in before he stopped you.

“we don’t have to rush baby, besides, don’t wanna hurt you”

“what do you mean?”

he looked down at himself.

“oh shit” you let out a little laugh

“yeah i guess you’re kinda big”

He looked up at you and tilted his head. “kinda? that’s an understatement” he said with pride.

You rolled your eyes and laid down next to him on your side. “whatever…just fuck me already”

That’s all it took to have Chris on top of you, slowly pushing inside. Your gummy walls clenched around every inch. Like something straight out of a movie, or a fanfiction: your best friend, fucking you, choosing you. Could it get better?

“You see that, baby? Can see it through your stomach. Fuck”

You whimpered at the sight. Moaned when he actually pressed down on it, forcing you to feel even more due to the lack of room for his length to go. By now Chris was entirely fucking you into the mattress, not missing a beat. Moans slipped out with no filter or care of who would hear them.

“Yeah? You like that? Like taking all of me?”

You nodded repeatedly, at a loss for words. It felt like you were on another planet and you desperately needed a touch of his intimacy. Without thinking you grabbed his face and shoved your mouth onto his. He kissed you with so much passion, you thought you’d been dreaming. He moved his mouth to your neck, then to your boobs. He sucked on them like they were his lifeline and swirled his tongue around your nipple. He licked, from your left boob, up the side of your neck and back to your mouth. All this while still pumping into you at a steady pace.

“Chris, please don’t stop. Please i’m so close” You begged him. Look at you. Begging your best friend to fuck you like a slut

“Me too. M’close too.”

“You’re so good. Taking me so good. So proud of you, you know that?”

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, if that was even possible. His body was now completely against yours, just a few more strokes and you were cumming around his dick, practically soaking him. He was only a few moments behind you before filling you up full of warmth. His movements stilled as he pressed his forehead against yours. The room filled with silence for a couple of minutes before chris pulled his body up from yours, almost like he was forced to. He kissed you gently on your forehead.

“I’m gonna grab some water, i’ll be right back”

He left you to yourself. Deciding to clean up you picked up your bra and put it on. You debated putting on your underwear after seeing how soaked it was, eventually deciding to just wear Chris’s underwear. You laid down and waited for him to come back.

Chris opened the door and threw a water bottle next to you and looked you up and down.

“My underwear?”

“I’m sorry, they’re just more comfortable, i’ll take them off” you said as you began to pull them off

“No. no, keep them on. Looks good on you”

He walked over to the bed and laid behind you, pulling you to his chest as he played with your hair and pressed soft kisses to the back of your shoulder and neck.

“Goodnight beautiful, see you tomorrow”

“Goodnight Chris”

dennis’s mom divorced his dad when he was in middle school. but dennis and his mom were separated because she supported dennis transitioning (the judge was tranphobic) and dennis was forced to stay on the farm with his dad and brothers and live as a girl. his father took away his mother’s contact info, only let the kids talk to the mom during holidays and birthdays... fastforward to his mother’s funeral in pittsburgh when dennis is in undergrad. he only figures it out because of a facebook post.

he travels a long way for the funeral. he meets his stepdad jack for the first time, or he looks at the man. he knew his mom had remarried someone. a doctor. a veteran.

the man looks heartbroken, broken period. dennis feels bad for thinking it. the man sits in his wheelchair in the green grass. the grass and the metal wheelchair are wet with rain. and the man is wet with rain. tears stream down the man’s face. dennis can’t tell where the rain and the tears begin and end. all of it melts the man’s black suit to his body. dennis blushes to realize the man is attractive. good for you mom, he thinks.

dennis gets his rotation at PTMC years later. dennis recognizes his stepdad at the first glance. his hair is greyer, his mood is fierier than it was on that day… time passes. trinity adopts him. the PITT becomes a second home… if jack ever looks at him funny, dennis can’t tell.

one night dennis is out for a walk. he needs to relax anyway and trinity is hooking up with some girl. dennis stretches on a bus bench, does some jumping jacks. he feels a little sleepy but the way trinity was wound up he’s figuring he won’t get the we’re done text for another two hours. he remembers he has jack’s address because of an accidental (he swears) snoop in the staff files. jack only lives a thirty-ish minute walk from trins. he can scope it out and come home.

so he heads there. the homes get nicer. the trees get older. the gardens get prettier. the garbage begins to disappear. streets are clean and lawns are fenced. apartment complexes and family homes begin to mix together. fast food joints disappear entirely.

dennis recognizes jack’s truck and he freezes. so jack is home tonight. hmm. he surveys the property from a distance. tidy. and… his mother’s favorite flowers are featured in the small garden. pink and yellow lilies.

dennis finds himself walking to jack’s house regularly. and when jack’s truck isn’t there? he finds himself walking up to the front door, snooping around it. he wants… he’s not sure what he wants. he thinks he wants to know his mom better. he wants to see what she saw in jack.

trinity bumps his elbow at work while they’re charting. it’s almost end of shift. “hey. you know abbot has been looking at you weird all week?”

“what?”

“yeah. thought i was crazy but i asked around and found some agreement.”

dennis doesn’t see jack at handoff. so… so that night dennis goes to jack’s and knocks on the front door.

jack opens it. he looks dennis up and down. his face is neutral.

dennis looks jack up and down. the man is on a crutch. he looks good. in blue athletic shorts and a tshirt.

jack steps back and says, “come in.”

dennis enters. in the entryway is a photo of jack and his mother. he realizes he looks just like her. even as a boy. same dirty blonde curls. blue eyes with deep shadows underneath.

jack is standing behind him. dennis can see jack’s here and now face reflected in the glass over the photo. jack looks so much older, tougher.

dennis turns. the entryway is tight. neither makes a move. dennis looks up at jack, and jack looks down at him. they eye each other.

finally dennis says, “do you know who i am?”

“i think so.”

“do you know why i’m here?”

jack’s eyebrows raise. then he shrugs. “you got tired of stalking me from afar?”

dennis snorts and moves deeper into the house. carpeted floors. he spots jack’s wheel chair in the living room. kitchen with a blender in use. protein smoothie.

“want a drink?”

jack has followed him, now passing him and entering the kitchen.

dennis sits at the bar. “smoothie?”

“beer.” jack gives him a half smile. “you can have a shake too if you want.” he glances at dennis’s biceps appraisingly.

dennis sighs. “no alcohol, please. a smoothie would be great.”

“you eat dinner yet?”

and just like that jack is being dad. and dennis is eating a salad with some steak bits on it and jack is asking him about his life back in nebraska.

at the end of the night dennis doesn’t want to go home. he’s kicking at jack’s door jam, sulking.

he senses jack behind him, waiting in his wheelchair.

dennis sighs and leaves. waves as he nudges the door shut.

again it happens. again. again. soon jack is incredulous that dennis hasn’t seen his dead mother’s favorite movie and they’re watching 10 Things I Hate About You on jack’s couch. and then they’re watching games together and sidehugging at hand off.

when jack offers to help dennis build muscle dennis has to bite the inside of his lip, wanting to call jack dad. wanting to call jack daddy. because the two feelings are sort of intertwined in him. he wants jack to teach him to bench more, wants jack to bend him over the bench press and fuck him. the night they work out together, dennis finally accepts jack’s offer of the guest bedroom, partially because it’s pouring cats and dogs. dennis crawls in, but it feels wrong. he can’t help it. he wants to go snuggle up to jack. but jack is up right now. he sighs, rubs his eyes. if jack isn’t sleeping right now, would it be so wrong to ask to sleep in jack’s bed? he’s not even using it…

dennis gets up, finds jack doing something in his office. “hey, jack?”

“yeah, kiddo?”

“can i…” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “can i crash in your bed? guest bedroom’s kinda… i don’t know.”

jack shrugs. the movement is so casual. “do what you need to do.”

“thanks.”

jack’s bedroom is big. ADA style. dennis crawls in on the side with the photo of his dead mom. he grabs it, holds it. it’s a polaroid of her on a street, pointing at a blazing red neon sign over her head that’s too out of focus. she looks so happy, even though she looks tired. he falls asleep with it in his arms.

dennis wakes in the morning to the bed dipping. jack is climbing in on his side. dennis sits up, checks the nightstand. it’s around 8am. he looks over at jack.

jack is looking at him, gives him a half smile. “sleep good?”

dennis nods, wipes his mouth, puts the photo back. without looking at jack, dennis says, “you’re a good dad, you know that?”

he hears jack swallow. “i don’t know, dennis. i…”

dennis looks at him.

but jack has rolled over.

“jack?”

“don’t worry about me. i don’t like it when you worry about me.”

dennis has to bite his tongue to keep from saying, i like worrying about you. “jack?”

a hesitation. “yeah?”

“whatever it is, i promise you you’re still a good dad.” dennis waits, then climbs out of jack’s bed and heads out.

jack is weird all week. normal enough at work but dennis can tell. jack’s holding onto something. he’s just as funny, just as charming, but he can’t quite look dennis in the eye. which for jack is like screaming he’s uncomfortable into the sky. about a week later, the next night dennis is over, jack is quiet. dennis can’t stand it. he wants to assume it’s his own fault, but jack has never gotten mad at him, never done anything like that. jack is in his kitchen making breakfast for himself and dinner for dennis.

“jack, can we talk?”

jack stiffens.

“please?”

jack flips their eggs, kills the heat, turns off the exhaust. “i can’t talk to you about this, dennis.”

“is it about me?”

“yes.”

“did i do something?”

jack is quiet. “no.”

dennis gets up, goes to jack who is staring at the eggs. he puts a hand on jack’s back. “jack, you’re kind of like a dad to me. a better dad than i’ve ever had. maybe you don’t want that–”

“i want that,” jack interjects. he sighs, closes his eyes. “it’s just…”

dennis waits, hand on jack’s big shoulder.

“i want… i do want you to be my son. but… you look…” jack buries his palms into his eyes. “when i look at you i see your mother.”

dennis swallows. he wants to retreat, but he figures he should at least try to be curious and empathetic. “does that make you feel bad?”

jack shakes his head, reaches around and grabs dennis’s hand from his shoulder. he squeezes it once before dropping it and moving to plate their food.

they eat at the bar in silence.

dennis can’t stand it. he swivels to face jack. “dude.”

jack sighs. leans back. “dennis. i feel like a freak. you’re like a son to me, and i also want… i see my wife when i see you. so, i love you. as a son. but i also… i feel like i also love you the way i loved my wife.” he glances at dennis. shame. jack is ashamed. guilty. “it’s… it feels wrong.”

dennis spins to look at his plate of eggs. “you want to fuck me?”

the question hangs between them.

jack is tense. dennis hears him swallow, hears him say, “no. i. i don’t.” then a sigh. “yeah, dennis. i want to fuck you. you have a… a pussy. christ. i keep wondering if you’d feel like her. taste… taste the same.” another sigh. “please. i just… i need some time and space. i think. i’m sorry. this is not how dads are supposed to act.”

dennis swivels away from jack, stands.

“i’m sorry,” jack says.

dennis takes a deep breath. he rounds his chair and stands behind jack.

jack looks around, eyebrow raised. that look. like a dog on the hunt.

dennis lifts his hand. “come on.”

jack frowns.

“dad.”

jack straightens.

“take my hand.”

jack does and dennis leads him to jack’s bedroom. jack is shaking. eyes wide, blown.

did she blow you? dennis wonders. instead he says, “i’ve been having similar thoughts. i want to know what my mother felt.”

jack’s fear leaves him, instead, the freckled man looks overcome with a strange glimmer. he tightens his hold on dennis’s hand, tugs dennis in as he approaches. in dennis’s ear, breath hot, he says, “you want to know how i fucked her?”

“yes.”

jacks hands trail down dennis’s sides. “do you want me to fuck you like the first time we had sex, or the last?”

dennis can feel jack’s mouth dipping lower, the man’s mouth working over his neck. dennis has to wet his lips. “can i call you dad?”

jack breathes out heavily, his hips tilting forward against dennis’s thigh.

dennis can feel him in his sweats. big and hard. “did she like sucking you off?”

jack blinks, pulls back. he blinks again as dennis sinks to his knees. “kid…”

“well?”

jack inhales slowly. “she liked to… to surprise me in the mornings. she’d wait in here, with her mouth open. tongue out.”

dennis does just that, looking up at jack, hungry.

jack pushes his sweats down. no underwear. the head of his cock is pink. jack is hard. he’s thick. he’s cut. he lays the head of his cock on dennis’s tongue.

dennis waits, imagines what his mother would do. he raises a brow.

jack slides his hand into dennis’s hair. “she liked it when i fucked her throat a little. she said it… lit her up.”

dennis can feel himself getting wet. he understands his mother perfectly as jack’s cock slides down his tongue, full and musky in his nose as the soft head meets the back of his throat. dennis feels his eyelids flutter at the sensation. so full. he moans.

jack moans.

dennis rubs his tongue under jack’s length.

“use your hand, too. yeah.” jack pulls out. “spit in it first. more.”

dennis does, takes jack’s base in hand as jack’s head lands again on dennis’s waiting tongue.

jack begins to thrust in earnest, the spongy head pleasantly hitting dennis’s throat each time. oh it’s perfect.

dennis is drooling, snotting. jack doesn’t stop. dennis tastes his snot as jack fucks, moaning and praising.

jack fucks his face for a good while, massaging dennis’s scalp and yanking, too. he’s groaning and praising him, occasionally rubbing his cheek with a thumb, never stopping. “you feel just like her, baby,” and, “such a good hole for me, son.”

dennis whimpers around jack. jack takes pity, pulling out. he commands dennis to undress. dennis does, peeling everything off. he’s had top surgery, thank god.

jack strips his own clothes and lays down, beckons dennis up.

dennis hesitates.

“come here, son.”

shaking, dennis obeys his father. “dad?”

“yeah, kiddo.”

“will you fuck me? please?”

“need to taste you first,” jack says, eyes greedy as he pulls dennis’s thighs around his head.

dennis clutches the headboard as jack’s tongue explores his little cock head.

“so much bigger than your mother, huh?” jack laps, suckles, worms a finger into him.

dennis’s legs shake as jack works him open. “ah! dad! jack! ah!”

he can feel jack smirking, feels jack pull out and then slip two fingers in. jack’s mouth pulls off, dennis hears sucking, then the mouth returns and a hand snakes around and a finger swirls between his ass cheeks.

dennis gasps, asks, “she liked ass stuff?”

jack chuckles between his legs. “your mom liked everything we did.” jack looks up at him. “huh, kid? want me to show you everything we did, too? i promise i’ll make all your insides feel good, huh? just so you can know how your mom liked it.”

dennis squeezes his eyes shut, then wide eyed. “i want you to get me pregnant.”

jack grins. “we were trying.” his look flickers. “you want to take your mother’s spot, kiddo? be mine?”

dennis bucks as jack fingers his cunt harder, then stills necessarily as the finger at his ass works it’s way through the tight ring of muscles.

“well?” jack prods, literally and metaphorically. “you want to be my wife, son? you’d look so pretty carrying my babies, so full and happy.”

it feels so good. dennis feels so full. the sensations are strange. “jack!”

“huh? aren’t i dad?”

“dad! aaaah,” dennis wails as jack’s tongue returns to his tdick. “dad! daddy. please. please! ah jack please fuck me. i do. i do want your babies, dad. please. i can be good like my mom. i can be better. jackie please!”

jack pulls off to say, “yeah? that’s what your mom called me. think you can ride better than her?”

dennis nods. “yes, sir.”

“show me.” jack’s fingers still but he makes no move to pull them out. “well?”

dennis whimpers when he realizes what jack means. he rides the fingers for awhile, tears brimming. it’s not enough and the urge to shit makes him feel humiliation, hot and wet. jack clearly is loving it. eventually jack tells him to get off and dennis pushes himself up and off the curled fingers. they slip out with pops and squelches.

“now my cock, pretty boy.”

dennis slides down jack’s body as jack wipes his hands on the sheets. dennis should have waited for three fingers of prep, but he’s so excited. he wants his daddy now. jack is so big, so hard. unbelievably hard. he lines up, feels the beautiful head press into him. he rubs himself on it, thinking of the sex where men couldn’t keep it up for him. his dad is so hard for him. logically he knows it has less to do with him and more to do with the men, but he feels so warm inside knowing his dad is hard for him.

jack moans as dennis pushes down.

dennis pants and whimpers in pain, shaking as he lowers himself onto jack’s girth, his length. dennis collapses onto jack’s chest, shaking. “dad. oh. daddy you’re so big.”

“that’s what your mother said.”

dennis laughs. a your mom joke. it’s sobering. dennis lifts his head. “i can get pregnant.”

jack sobers, too. “is it likely?”

“no. but i can.”

jack nods. “just dirty talk?”

dennis swallows, nods, rests his head on jack’s chest. “i guess. it really does, uh. i like it.”

he feels jack grin. “you’d look so good swollen up with me, huh, baby?” jack groans as dennis clenches down on him.

“please come inside me.”

“i wouldn’t dream of coming anywhere else, kiddo. a son’s gotta take everything his dad gives him.” with that, jack gives a little thrust.

dennis tightens, shakes. jack is so big, and dennis can feel the flare of his cock head dragging through his insides with each in and out. jack is hitting his cervix. it hurts. he puts a hand on jack’s chest. “dad, wait.”

jack frowns. “your mother didn’t need to wait.”

dennis let’s out a little sob.

jack cooes, “oh, baby, i’m teasing. your mom had had four kids. she could take more than you. by the time you have four kids you’ll be able to take me anytime anyway.”

dennis shakes on top of jack, pushes off and back on.

jack let’s him, let’s dennis have total control. “good boy. stretch feel good, kiddo?”

“yes, dad.”

jack hugs him. “here, let me.”

dennis stills.

“yeah, relax, just like that.” jack pulls out, pushes in. in and out, slow and steady.

dennis moans for his daddy. it’s like being massaged. his dad is making him feel so good. dad’s gonna get me pregnant, he thinks.

jack runs a strong arm down dennis’s back, runs a hand over his ass. dennis feels jack collect some of his pussy slick and then a wet finger circling his ass. dennis relaxes, let’s jack push inside.

dennis did not expect to cum from that but he does, shaking on jack as the cock head drags over his insides and the finger worms deeper. “jack! jackie stop. please. daddy, please!”

jack stills, kissing the side of dennis’s head. “need a break, baby? your daddy hasn’t come yet. don’t you want me to feel good?”

dennis whines. he really needs jack to pull his bullying cock out. he’s so overstimulated.

jack does pull out.

dennis relaxes. he can feel the head still, nestled in the outer clench of his pussy, waiting. breathlessly, he wiggles a little on the finger in his ass. “did you fuck my mom when she was overstimulated?”

“no,” jack purrs. “i always waited. she would often cum several times when i fucked her. so i got very good at waiting.” jack pushed in a little, making dennis whine. “i’m a little out of practice though. you don’t mind, do you son?”

dennis whimpers as jack begins to thrust again. dennis feels his ass tighten, feels certain he’s going to shit.

“relax, den,” jack says. he drags the finger in and out. “i can’t fuck you properly if you can’t go limp for me.”

dennis does go limp, let’s jack use him like a flesh light till they’re both coming. dennis is so overstimulated that he’s crying fully into jack’s chest as the man jerks into him. jack pulls the finger in dennis’s ass out. dennis is too out of it to track anything but the pathetic clenching of his ass now that his daddy has left it. he wants it back, no matter how strange it made him feel.

jack seems to sense it. he kisses dennis’s forehead. “don’t worry, baby. i’ll fill you up as often as you want.”

dennis can feel jack pumping his insides still. he feels hot tears welling. he just fucked his stepdad? and he knows he’s gonna do it again. knows he would be mad if jack pushed him away. he hugs jack, milks jack’s cock as best he can. he needs jack to know he’s a good boy. that he’s a good son. could be a good wife. a good mom for jack’s kids. he momentarily wishes he had boobs still. oh god. he’s in deep.

jack eventually eases out. the gush of cum and slick shock them both. jack chuckles about needing to clean up. “go to sleep, sweet thing. it’s my daytime. don’t worry.”

dennis does go to sleep. he wakes in the morning to something buzzing in his ass. he jerks up, or tries to. jack is sitting across the room, smirking, a hand in his pants.

dennis looks up, bleary. his hands are tied to the headboard. he swallows thickly as more sensations come to him. bus pussy is full, too. he looks down to see the blue rabbit ears around his huge clit.

“tell me if you want me to stop, den,” he hears jack say as the rabbit ears turn on.

dennis jerks.

he hears tsking. “don’t make me come over there and put them back in because you thrashed around.”

dennis whines, buries his nose into his arm, tries very hard not to buck into the toys filling his holes. how did jack not wake him up? how long have these been inside him? he can’t think as the vibrations increase. he’s crying. and he thinks he actually will shit the but vibrator out. he tells jack as much and jack laughs, delighted. he unties dennis but leaves them on until dennis is in the bathroom, legs shaking and ass tight with the need to go.

dennis sobs when jack finally pulls them out and sets dennis down. “you’re a sadist,” dennis mumbles as he shits. “fuck you.” that earns him a light slap.

“watch your language, young man.”

“you’re gross.”

jack hums. “you done? need daddy to wipe for you?”

dennis goes pink, wipes himself. but it does something for him: the condescension.

jack puts them both back in, much to dennis’s horror, and ties him back up in bed. “i’ll make you breakfast, honey.” and jack does. and he makes dennis eat, standing with spread legs in the kitchen while jack holds the vibrators inside of him.

“you do this with my mother?” dennis gasps.

“oh, no. this is for you. punishment for not telling me you wanted your dad sooner.” jack leans in. dennis can feel the restraint in jack’s muscles against his back, sides, jack’s forearm wedged against his tummy. “i was punishing myself for so long for no reason, wanting you cumming on my hand.” he shoves the dildo in hard. it makes dennis gasp and sob, tears beading in his lashes.

“jack please?”

“who?” jack is pulling it out, shoving it in.

“dad! dad, please just fuck me.”

jack coos. pulls the toy out and tosses it in the sink. dennis hears a dribble of slick hit the floor. but then jack’s cock head is entering him, all the way up- ah!

dennis is crying now. he really is. he can’t help it. he’s gasping and sniffling as jack finally fucks him good and hard, the anal plug buzzing away.

“finish you breakfast,” jack grunts.

when dennis doesn’t move he spanks dennis, hard.

“come on, brat. appreciate my hard work and eat.”

dennis lifts the fork, omelette falling with each damaging thrust. he manages to get some in his mouth. it’s so hard. he chews and swallows on instinct, groaning as jack fucks his hips into the counter.

“my little boy’s so tight for me,” jack moans. “how’s it taste?”

“it’s good, dad,” dennis says. “i’m gonna cum!”

jack growls. “if you cum before that plate is clean i’ll bend you over and turn your ass purple.”

dennis’s tears fall hot and wet onto the counter as he mechanically spoons food into his mouth. he gets the last bite in right as the orgasm rushes through him. he’s never squirt before in his life but he’s certain the painful tightening and the absolutely heavenly release of fluid is squirt. all over the kitchen floor. he’s hearing good boy and beautiful angel and even better than your mother and that’s my son but he’s so full and so empty that it hurts. he’s sobbing so hard. and when jack pulls out he collapses to the floor. jack has to carry him to bed. jack is kissing him, cooing, stroking. eventually jack says, “let me drive you to work, baby.”

dennis nods and let’s jack help him through the rest of his morning routine.

jack orders in coffee for them on the way and forces dennis to drink it, smiling at him. “you just look a little out of it, thought you might need this. go save some lives, baby. i’ll see you at hand off.” he leans over and kisses dennis’s cheek as he opens the car door.

dennis climbs out, thanking the gods his legs aren’t shaking anymore.

trinity clocks him, eyebrow raised.

dennis looks at her, sips his drink.

“you spend the night at abbot’s again?”

she knows jack was married to his mom. he can’t tell her this. “yeah. we were playing xbox until like midnight.”

she laughs. “jesus. did you lose? you better not have.”