Mother may we have another chapter of Smooth Operator soon? (No pressure! Just feral for more sonar content!)
yes my angel i shall try!! ive just been in the poopiest shittiest trench of my entire life but once i get on up and outta here, ill be back to it!!! 🫡
Hi last night I finished reading smooth operator on ao3 and I was wondering would you continue it or is it done. PLEASE, if you don't mind wrote more please. I love your stuff btw.
thank u angel!!! i will continue, dont u worry ur sweet lil head!!! i have it pretty much all outlined, ive just had no opportunity to write it (at least without rushing but i love those silly losers too much to half-ass the next chap)
I loooooove ur writing but I absolutely love the way you write dick <3333 makes me wanna bf real bad (but only if it’s literally him lmfao)
we support only liking fictional men in this household!! i will always write him as a silly yearning boyfriend and no one will ever take that away from us hehehe
sending u like sososooo much positive energy and whatev , just like hoping the best for you and that things start going ur way or at least get better <<3
thank u angel baby love of my life!!! i could use all the positive energy in the world rn 🥹🥹
First of; I read Smooth Operator on ao3! It's so good, I couldn't stop reading. Absolutely love. 😭💕
Secondly; I had an intrusive thought and I need your opinion Queen. I've been watching alot documentaries recently and one coincidently came up for Fruit Bat conservation. There are people who nurse orphaned/ injured bats and they climb on the caretakers, it's so cute.
Then I thought... imagine reader doing that. Sonar just sees this normal ass bat clinging to her chest and just starts screaming at it to get it's own boobs. (Is this not accurate? Please let me your thoughts. I couldn't stop laughing when picturing this in my head). 😂
oh my goood please!!! just a bunch of chirping and high pitched noises back and forth while he argues with a legitimate baby of his species. also definitely plays it off as him 'just joking around' but hes actually dead serious bc he doesnt trust it since he, as a baby orphaned bat, would use his sob story as an excuse to sit on your boobs
im so so sooo sorry to keep sending sonar asks i know and love your other interests and writing but im also like so obsessed with your characterization of him 😭
do you think he’d be the type to try and make you jealous pre-relationship ? like hits on some rando chick infront of you type of thing
ABSOLUTELY!! i see him as someone who tried to do whatever it took to be cool, funny, and fit in with his frat bros/the obnoxious 'elite' crowd while he was at harvard. those type of guys are always such losers and sonar was easily persuadable and somehow both insecure and arrogant...i think hes def grown out of it as hes gotten older (and has people now to laugh him into shame abt it bc what is this?? middle school? loser)
i like to imagine that he met mal because of it; at some bar with a group of his douchebag 'friends' trying to impress a girl so they told him to make her jealous cause "girls always fall for that shit" (half setting him up just for their entertainment tbh)...he just so happened to try it on malevola and she was like... bruh no way. laughed in his face, made fun of him, then looked at his friends and was like yeah those guys arent your friends btw
sometimes he'll revert back to it because hes a dummy (affectionate) but mal is like... dude. you gotta stop doing that. its making everyone uncomfortable and really sad
SUMMARY: After expressing an interest in bondage, you and Dick experiment with rope play.
WARNINGS: SMUT!! established relationship, kinda switch!reader & switch!dick (yummy sub!dick appearance <3) bondage (wrist restraints with silk rope), use of vibrator, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, edging, unprotected p in v, praise kink, dirty talk
WORD COUNT: 5.6k
AUTHORS NOTE: me breaking my writers block w over 5k words of just smut. my mormon ancestors are weeping in the celestial kingdom. lowkey see this as the same pairing from stick the landing and their new headboard
READ ON AO3 | DICK GRAYSON MASTERLIST
"Surprise me."
Dick's eyes light up, blue sparkling with unadulterated joy and deep, blazing hunger. "Music to my ears, baby," he breathes. "Okay. First time. We should start gentle. Build some trust."
You nod, your stomach tightening in anticipation, and wait as his hand reaches past you. A second later, he presents an unassuming black box, Inside, nestled in foam, is a curved vibrator.
"This," he says, holding up the wand, "is for you." He sets the box on the nightstand and turns once more, walking to his dresser.
You take in the sight of him—the muscles in his back shifting beneath skin as he moves, shoulders rolling with that unconscious grace he carries everywhere. He's already shirtless, his bottom half clothed in simple grey sweatpants that sit low on his hips, and the sight awakens something primal in you. A deep, instinctual want that makes your mouth go dry.
A shiver of excitement runs through your spine, spreading outward to the tips of your fingers. When you'd first brought up the idea of wanting to experiment in the bedroom, you'd half-expected Dick to tease you. But all you were met with was genuine interest, his eyes lighting up like you'd given him a gift.
Dick turns, his fingers dancing over a coil of deep blue rope.
"And this," he says, the rope flowing through his hands like water, "is for me."
He meets your gaze, closing the distance between you. The hunger is still in his eyes, pupils blown, but his voice is soft, serious, when he talks. "I'm gonna let you tie me up. Just my wrists. To the bed. And then you're gonna use that wand on me while I'm helpless. How's that for a surprise?"
"Really?"
He nods, extending his hands in invitation. You grab the rope and run it through your fingers. It's cool and impossibly smooth against your skin, and the sensation sends another spark of desire down your spine.
"It's soft," you murmur.
"Silk," Dick says, his voice a little rough as he watches your hands with rapt attention. "Doesn't burn or chafe. Best for beginners. And for people you don't want to hurt." He gives you a quick, reassuring smile. "Assuming I haven't done anything recently to make you want to hurt me. In that case, there's hemp."
You give a small breathy laugh as you look from the rope in your hands to the sturdy rings on your bedposts, then back to his face. The playful energy is still there, but it's banked now, replaced by a focused excitement. He's waiting for your lead.
"So," you say, your voice gaining confidence. "I tie you up. Just your wrists. To the bed. And then I get to play with you with that?" You nod toward the wand on the nightstand.
"Exactly," he breathes, his eyes dark. "I'll be totally at your mercy." He holds out his wrists, crossing them in a classic surrender pose. "You wanna learn the knot? It's easy. I'll show you."
The silk feels alive in your hands. "Show me."
Dick's smile is all encouragement. He holds his crossed wrists steady. "Okay. First, you make a loop like this." He guides your hands, his fingers warm over yours. You form a simple loop in the middle of the rope. "That's a bight. Now, you wrap it around both wrists, just above the joint. Not too tight—you should be able to slip two fingers underneath, easy."
You follow his instructions, wrapping the blue silk around his wrists. His skin is warm and you can feel the pulse in his veins.
"Good," he murmurs, his breath fanning your cheek. "Now, you take the end, thread it back through the bight, and pull it snug. That's a single-column tie. It won't tighten on its own, so it's safe."
You pull the knot snug. It holds firm. You're left with two long tails of rope and a sense of profound triumph. The emotion quickly spreads throughout your skin, a wildfire that only adds to the heat of your arousal.
"Perfect," Dick says, voice tight. He nods toward the bedpost. "Now, lead me over there. And tie the tails to the ring. Use the same knot."
You give the silk rope a gentle tug. He follows the pressure without resistance, letting you lead him the few steps to the side of his bed. Lifting his bound wrists, he offers them to the rings, recently welded to the bedpost. His eyes are locked on yours.
"Same knot," he reminds you softly, his voice a low thrum in the quiet room.
The gentle tone of his voice—so at odds with the profound hunger darkening his eyes—makes you dizzy with want. The ability for your boyfriend to be this patient, this controlled, even as you can see the clear evidence of his need straining against those slutty grey sweatpants, sends heat pooling low in your belly.
You take the two long tails of the blue rope. Your fingers remember the motion he showed you. You form a bight, wrap it around the ring, thread the end through, and pull it snug. The knot holds. Dick's arms are now stretched comfortably above his head, the silk taut but not straining. He gives an experimental tug.
"Perfect," he breathes. He's completely vulnerable, his chest exposed, his body open and offered to you. A faint tremor runs through him. "I'm all yours, baby. What's your first move?"
You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, considering. He's spread out before you like a feast—all lean muscle and warm skin and devastating blue eyes—and you can barely think, your thoughts dissolving into the primal desire to devour him like a woman starved. To take and take until you're both wrecked.
The vibrator sits on the nightstand, waiting, but you don't reach for it yet.
Instead, you crawl onto the soft sheets before him, straddling his thighs as your hands come up to rest on his chest. Below your palms, his heart is a frantic, living rhythm. Dick is staring at you, cataloguing every small movement—the shift of your hips, the rise and fall of your chest, the way you're looking at him. His full lips are parted in waiting, the perfect image of a man in deep suspense, exactly where he wants to be—beneath his woman.
"You are so beautiful," he murmurs.
The words send heat cascading through your body, igniting every nerve ending. With the warmth of his affection fueling you into action, you lean down and kiss him.
Slow and deep, your body presses against his as your mouths move together, the weight of you pinning him half against the bedpost and the mattress below. He groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through both of you. His bound hands flex above his head, the silk rope pulling taut. He can't touch you back, can't pull you closer.
You break the kiss, breathing hard, letting your hands trail down his body. Your thumbs brush over his nipples. "Your heart's going crazy," you murmur against his lips, biting back a triumphant grin.
He is, indeed, completely at the mercy of your mouth, your hands—your desires.
"You're killing me," he responds, his head falling back against the post, eyes squeezed shut. His whole body is trembling with the effort of staying still. "Fuck. Please."
"Please what?" you hum, lips brushing the line of his jaw. You can feel the frantic flutter of his pulse there, too. You savor the feel of it, another token of your triumph—physical evidence of the effect you have on him.
Dick lets out a pained whine, his hips rolling forward helplessly. "Anything. Please."
Unable to hold it any longer, you smile against his skin, descending further. A chaste kiss to the column of his throat, followed by an open-mouthed kiss to the center of his chest, right over his pounding heart. You roll your tongue over one of his nipples, teasing.
Dick arches off the bedpost with a gasp. "Oh—"
You pull back, biting your bottom lip to suppress a laugh, the amusement at his desperation fueling the arousal pooling in your core. The intimacy of the situation isn't lost on you—the trust it requires, the vulnerability he's offering so freely. When you look up at him, Dick's eyes are wild, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. You're not sure you've ever seen him look so desperate, so utterly undone. It's undeniably one of the most attractive states you've witnessed him in—this composed, confident man reduced to trembling need.
"You're so pretty like this," you murmur, your own voice gravelly. "All tied up and desperate for me."
You lean back, his eyes tracking your every move as you lean over him and pick up the wand from the nightstand. It's cool and heavy in your hand. A low, steady hum fills the quiet room as you turn it on, the vibration thrumming through your palm.
Dick's breath catches. He watches, mesmerized, as you bring the humming tip back to his body. You don't touch him yet. You just trace a slow, deliberate line down the center of his chest, over the defined ridges of his abs, hovering just above his skin. The air between the vibrating silicone and his flesh seems to crackle.
You stop just above the waistband of his sweatpants. The fabric is tented, straining over his obvious arousal.
"You're shaking," you observe, your voice deliberately calm.
"I wonder why," he grits out, his knuckles white where they grip the rope above his head. "I'm trying so fucking hard to be good."
You've seen Dick in situations much worse than this—watched him take hits that would hospitalize normal people, seen him work through pain with gritted teeth and determination. But you've never heard this level of raw need in his voice, never seen him this close to breaking from want alone. It makes your mouth water, makes everything below your waist clench.
You press the humming wand firmly against the bulge in his sweatpants.
The effect is immediate. Dick's whole body jerks against his restraints, a ragged groan tearing from his throat. The vibration transfers through the fabric, a deep, insistent thrumming right against his cock. His hips buck helplessly, trying to grind into the sensation, but you hold the wand steady, applying just enough pressure to keep him whining.
"Fuck—fuck, please—" he whines, his head thrashing back against the bedpost. His chest is flushed, sweat beading on his skin.
"Like this?" you ask, softly. His body is solid evidence of his enjoyment—every muscle in his chest pulled taut, abs clenching with each shuddering breath—but watching him struggle to form words, to answer through the pleasure, is undeniably intoxicating. You move the wand in a slow, circular motion, mapping the hard length of him through the soft fabric.
He lets out a choked sound. "Yes—god, yes, I—" His words dissolve into a groan as you increase the pressure. His thighs are trembling violently. "Please, I'm gonna—you can't—I'll cum in my pants like a fucking teenager—"
You pull the wand away.
The sudden absence of vibration makes him cry out, a sound of pure loss. He slumps against the ropes, panting, his eyes glazed and unfocused. A dark, damp spot has already spread on the front of his joggers.
"Looks like you already started," you murmur, tapping the wet fabric with the still-humming wand. He flinches, a full-body shudder wracking him.
You let the wand fall from your hand as you turn it off. It hits the sheets with a soft thud. Dick watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, his chest heaving, desperate and pleading without saying a word. You don't make him wait this time—unable to tease him further as your own patience withers away with your growing arousal. You can feel the evidence of your want, surely soaking through your underwear already, making you ache.
You make your way back down his body, planting a kiss against his hip bone as your hands go to his waistband. Hooking your fingers in the fabric and his boxers beneath, you pull them down in one smooth motion. His cock springs free, hard and flushed, a bead of precum already glistening at the tip.
The sight of him makes your mouth water, your stomach fluttering with anticipation. You lean forward and take him into your mouth in one slow, deep glide.
The sound he makes is pure, shattered relief. His hips buck instinctively, but the ropes hold him fast. You set a relentless pace, one hand wrapping around the base of his shaft, the other gripping his trembling thigh. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard, your tongue swirling around the head with every upward stroke.
"Baby—fuck, I can't—I'm gonna—" he moans, his voice cracking.
You hum around him, the vibration making him shiver. His whole body goes rigid, straining against the silk bonds. Then he's coming, hot and bitter down your throat, his cries raw and broken above you. You swallow, working him through it until he's shuddering and spent, slumping bonelessly against the bedframe.
You pull off with a soft pop, looking up at him as you run your tongue along your lips. He's a wreck—sweat-slicked, trembling, his eyes glassy with pleasure and submission.
"Didn't come in your pants like a teenager, but you sure did last as long as one," you hum with a small, teasing grin.
Dick lets out a rough scoff, his cheeks tinged with a blush. "Shut up."
You reach up and begin working at the knot securing his wrists to the bedpost. Your fingers, still slick from saliva, fumble slightly with the silk. The single-column tie comes loose easily. Dick's arms drop, the blue rope still wrapped around his wrists like bracelets. He sags forward, his forehead pressing to yours.
"Fuck," he whispers, his voice wrecked. "That was so hot."
A soft laugh escapes you as he moves to collapse fully on his back. He pulls you to straddle his hips and you feel the hard line of his cock, already half-hard again, against your pants.
Leaning over him, your hair falls around both your faces, a curtain of privacy from the empty room. Dick's mouth is curved into a dazed smile, the heat in his eyes mixing with profound affection. You lean in and kiss him—soft at first, just a press of your lips against his. He melts into it, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw, kissing you back with a quiet, desperate hunger that makes your stomach flip. The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against yours, and a low, needy sound escapes his throat.
When you finally pull back, both of you are breathing a little harder.
"Hi," he whispers, his voice rough.
"Hi," you respond. The giddiness in your chest, that fluttering love-sick bird, preens at his attention.
Dick leans forward to catch your lips in another kiss, his hands settling on your hips in a firm, kneading grip. "Your turn?"
"My turn," you echo.
You reach for the length of blue rope still trailing from his wrists. You unwind it slowly, the silk whispering against his skin. His eyes are locked on yours, dark with understanding and a fresh wave of anticipation.
You hold up the freed rope. "Tie me up next."
His lips curve into a sinful grin. His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, pushing the fabric up until the cool air of the room hits your exposed skin. He brings the shirt over your head, tossing it aside without a glance.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to admire the view of you, naked from the waist up. "Fuck," he breathes, the word a raw, reverent exhale.
One of his hands comes up, his palm warm and slightly rough as it cups you, his thumb brushing over your nipple in a slow, deliberate circle. The sensation is electric, sharp and sweet, and you gasp, your back arching further into his touch. He watches your face, mesmerized by your reaction, his own expression one of awestruck hunger. You'd think he'd never seen you like this before—not that you've been together for years, not that he's mapped every inch of your body countless times. But the wonder never fades from his eyes, the reverence never dims.
He looks at you like it's the first time, every time.
"So beautiful," he whispers, his voice ragged. He leans down, his mouth replacing his thumb, his tongue tracing the same sensitive path. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair.
He moves to your other breast, his tongue circling the peak with the same focused attention. His other hand finds its twin, his thumb and forefinger gently rolling and tugging at the sensitive nipple. The dual sensation makes you gasp, every nerve ending in your body alight.
You feel him smile against your skin, a smug, satisfied curve of his lips. Then a hand slowly trails down, resting at the waistband of your sweats. He lifts his head, his mouth detaching from your breast.
"On your stomach," he says, his voice dropping into a lower, commanding register.
A shiver runs through you. You roll off him, turning onto your stomach as he moves, leaning back on his heels to watch you. His hands are gentle as they gather your hair, sweeping it over your shoulder to expose the back of your neck.
The cool, smooth silk of the blue rope touches the skin between your shoulder blades. He begins to loop it. "Arms behind your back," he instructs, "Wrists together."
You comply, crossing your wrists at the small of your back. He wraps the silk around them, tying the same secure, single-column knot he taught you. It's snug but not tight.
You're bound, helpless, face-down on his bed. It's extremely erotic. You're halfway certain there's already a growing puddle on his sheets from your wetness alone.
"Good." His lips brush the shell of your ear. The silk of the rope shifts against your bound wrists. "Now, my turn. Tell me if you want me to stop."
You nod, breathless, your body singing in need. You feel the mattress move as Dick gets up, and then again, as he settles back next to you.
A second later, you jump slightly at the foreign feeling of something being traced slowly down the length of your spine—the curved smooth wand. He drags the silicone tip from the nape of your neck, over each vertebra, down to the waistband of your sweats. The sensation is electric in its promise, even with the vibrations turned off.
The low hum returns, filling the room. He places the vibrating wand flat against the small of your back, right above your waistband. The deep thrumming resonates through your entire body. He holds it there, letting the sensation sink in, before trailing it further, curving around your ass before he holds it against your aching core.
You gasp at the feeling, the vibrations making your body sing, even through the shifting fabric of your pants. Dick begins to move it in slow, deliberate circles.
A soft moan escapes your lips, muffled by the sheets. The vibration from the wand is a deep, insistent thrum that seems to settle in your bones, melting the tension from your shoulders. You arch your back slightly, pressing into the sensation.
Dick makes a pleased sound behind you. "That's it," he murmurs. The humming wand moves with more intention as he presses it slightly harder against your clothed core. The vibration is more direct now, more intimate. Your bound hands flex behind you.
He keeps the wand there for a long moment, letting the pleasure build, before he pulls it away. You hear the soft click as he turns it off and sets it aside. Then his hands are on you again, deft fingers slipping under the waistband of your sweats. He pulls them down, along with your underwear, in one slow, controlled motion. The cool air hits your exposed skin, making you shiver.
His palm settles on the back of your thigh. "So pretty," he whispers. "All tied up and spread out for me."
Words elude you as you push your hips back, a slow, needy roll that presses your bare ass against the warm palm still resting on your thigh. It's a wordless, unmistakable invitation.
Dick's breath hitches. His hand tightens, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thigh for a moment before relaxing. "Greedy," he murmurs, but there's no reproach in it, only deep, delighted approval.
His other hand joins the first, both palms smoothing over the curves of your ass. He kneads gently, his thumbs tracing the sensitive crease where your thigh meets your body. Then one hand slips between your legs from behind.
You gasp into the sheets as his fingers find you ready. He strokes through your folds, coating himself in your slick.
"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he groans, his voice thick with awe.
One finger slides into you easily, curling upward to find that sweet spot inside. You clench around him, a helpless, pulsing rhythm. He adds a second finger, stretching you, and you rock back against his hand, your bound wrists straining behind you, the silk rope the only thing keeping you from completely unraveling.
"More," you beg, your voice breaking as his fingers work you deeper. You're moaning softly, greedily welcoming the sensations—the stretch of his fingers inside you, the firm pressure of him against you, the low, approving murmur of his voice in your ear.
Your bound hands make every touch feel more intense, more deliberate. You're completely his to play with, and the thought alone makes you clench around his fingers.
"As you wish," he breathes, placing an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. His fingers curl harder, pumping into you with a steady rhythm that has your hips rocking back against his hand. He leans back, his other hand snaking around your hip to rub against your clit—the friction building into a tight, white-hot coil deep in your belly.
"You're gonna come for me, aren't you?" he groans, his voice filling the air alongside the obscene wet sounds of his fingers inside you, the slick rhythm of your desperation. "All tied up and taking it so good. So perfect."
You nod emphatically, your cheek pressed against the sheets. The combination of praise, relentless stimulation, and your desperate helplessness pushes you over, your orgasm crashing through you with a force that steals your breath. Your body clenches violently around his fingers, back arching off the bed as pleasure rips through every nerve.
Dick holds you through it, his fingers still moving inside you, drawing out the waves until you're shuddering and spent, panting into the sheets.
He slowly withdraws his fingers. You feel the wetness between your thighs, the cool air on your overheated skin. His hands come to your hips, turning you gently onto your back. He adjusts the silk rope—loosening it briefly, repositioning your wrists to rest at your stomach, then retying the knot with the same secure precision. The blue rope still binds your wrists together, but now they're settled lower, leaving you flat against the mattress rather than arched uncomfortably.
He looks down at you, his own face flushed, eyes dark with satisfaction and something softer.
"Fuck. I love you," he says, his voice rough. "You're incredible."
You look up at him, your pupils blown wide, still half dazed. The blue rope is still a soft, binding weight around your wrists. "Want you to fuck me," you breathe, the words a needy, breathless beg. "Please."
Dick's expression shifts, overwhelmed by raw, hungry desire. He lets out a shuddering breath. "You have no idea what you do to me." His eyes flick to the rings on the bedpost, then back to you. "Want me to tie you to those?" he asks, his voice rough with want. "Keep you spread out for me?"
You swallow hard, nodding. "Yes. But—" You shift slightly, testing the position of your bound wrists. "Lower. Not like yours were. I want to stay flat."
Understanding flashes in his eyes, followed by approval. "Yeah. I can do that."
He moves quickly, kneeling between your spread thighs. He takes the trailing ends of the silk rope and feeds them through the lower rings on the bedpost—the ones positioned closer to the mattress. He ties them off, and when he's done, your bound wrists are secured but your body remains flat against the bed, arms stretched just enough to create that delicious feeling of restraint without strain.
He leans over you, bracing one hand on the mattress by your head, the other guiding himself. The head of his cock nudges against your slick entrance, and you both gasp at the contact.
He pushes in slowly, a thick, relentless stretch that makes you arch your back. The silk rope pulls taut against your bound wrists. He buries himself to the hilt, his hips flush against yours, and stays there for a long moment, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing raggedly.
"You feel so good." His voice is strained. "Always so perfect around me."
Then he starts to move. You whine at his first thrusts, the fullness stealing your breath.
"Dick," you gasp, your bound hands tight with desperation to touch him. "Oh, fuck—"
He groans, a raw, desperate sound, and kisses you, swallowing the curse. It's messy, all tongue and shared breath. He pulls back enough to look down, watching himself disappear inside you.
"Look at that," he murmurs, his voice rough as gravel. "Look at you taking me." He thrusts again, deep and claiming, his gaze fixed on the joining of your bodies. "You're so fucking beautiful like this. All mine."
He drops his head, his mouth finding your neck, sucking a mark into your skin as the pleasure builds. A tight, white-hot coil winding tighter and tighter in your belly once more.
He uses one hand to hike your leg higher over his hip, exposing you completely to him. The angle changes, and his next thrust is so deep you cry out, a melodic, broken moan that seems to hang in the air.
"That's it," he praises. He leans over you, bracing himself on his forearms, his face inches from yours as he fucks into you faster, harder.
"I love you." Dick's mouth catches yours in a heated kiss. "I love the sounds you make." Another kiss. "I love the way you feel beneath me." Yet another kiss, deeper, his lips still against yours as he adds, "And I love you being completely at my mercy."
You're beyond words, beyond thought. You're just sensation and need. "More," you beg, the word a ragged gasp. "Please, more."
He groans, his eyes darkening with a feral intensity.
"Yeah?" he breathes, his hips never slowing. "You can take it, baby? You can take all of me?"
You nod, dazed, your vision blurring at the edges. You can. You want to. You want everything he has to give.
"Fuck," he whispers, and then he's kissing you again, a messy, desperate clash of lips and tongue as his pace becomes relentless—a rhythm that's both punishing and reverent. You're both slick with sweat, breathing in each other's air, moving as one. The coil inside you winds tighter and tighter, a spring about to snap. You can feel his own control fraying, his thrusts becoming uneven, his groans more guttural.
His lips break from yours, hovering just above. "Don't come yet," he says, his voice ragged against your mouth.
"Please," you whimper, the word torn from you. "Dick, please—"
His thrusts don't slow, but they become more controlled, deeper, hitting a spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Not yet, baby. I want you to feel every inch of me. I want you to beg for it."
He's drawing it out, edging you mercilessly. The coil is a live wire, sparking with every deep stroke. You're trembling, your thighs shaking where they're wrapped around his waist. You're so close, teetering on the edge, held there by the iron control in his voice and the relentless, perfect rhythm of his hips.
"Dick—" you sob, your body trembling violently on the edge, every muscle coiled tight.
He grins, a wicked, predatory flash of teeth, and kisses you hard. Then he reaches over, his arm stretching, his fingers closing around the previously discarded wand. His dark eyes hold a promise as he flicks it on. The low hum fills the room again.
He goes back to thrusting into you, hard and deep, the bedframe protesting with each powerful drive of his hips. At the same time, he presses the humming wand against your clit.
The dual assault is immediate and overwhelming. The deep, filling stretch of his cock, the relentless vibration right on your most sensitive spot. You cry out, a raw, broken sound, as your orgasm rips through you. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure, your body convulsing around him, bound hands clawing at the air.
Dick groans, his rhythm faltering as you clench around him. "Fuck, baby—" he chokes out, his own control shattering as he follows you over the edge with a choked shout, hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you.
He falls above you, his body shaky as he presses small kisses to your chest. The wand falls from his limp hand, buzzing harmlessly against the sheets until he fumbles to turn it off.
You let out a ragged breath, your body flushed and dazed. A small, incredulous smile grows on your lips, and a soft laugh escapes you. "Holy shit."
Dick, still collapsed half on top of you, lifts his head. He's just as wrecked—sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes heavy-lidded. A matching grin spreads across his face.
"Yeah," he breathes, his voice hoarse. "Holy shit is right."
He shifts his weight off you, gently disentangling and slipping out of your body. You feel the immediate, cool absence. Before you can protest, his fingers find the knot of the blue silk rope still binding your wrists. He works it loose with gentle tugs until the rope falls away, pooling on the sheets.
You bring your freed hands up, flexing your fingers. The skin is marked with faint, pretty lines from the silk. You reach over and trace one along his sweat-shined collarbone. He shivers and collapses beside you, pulling you with him so you're half-sprawled across his chest. His heart hammers against your ear, a frantic, living drum.
He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. "Well," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "Good first time?"
You bite back a teasing grin. "Eight out of ten," you say into his chest, your voice muffled by his skin and the aftershocks still humming through your veins.
Dick's chest vibrates with a low, genuine laugh. His hand comes up to stroke your hair, his fingers tangling gently in the damp strands at your nape.
"Only you," he murmurs, his voice rough with amusement, "could have an earth-shattering orgasm and immediately critique my performance."
"It's a gift," you say, but there's no bite to it. You're boneless, warm, sated in a way that has nothing to do with just the sex and everything to do with the solid, steady beat of his heart under your ear.
You lie there in comfortable silence, one of his arms wrapped around you, the other thrown over his eyes as he catches his breath. For a while, there's nothing but the sound of your breathing evening out, the rustle of sheets, the distant hum of the city outside. It's peaceful. Liminal. That soft space between exertion and awareness where nothing hurts and everything feels right.
When you finally surface, properly surface, you notice the room is darker than you'd realized. The far window shows the city coming to life at night—neon bleeding through the blinds, headlights streaking past in blurred lines. You frown slightly and tilt your head to look up at him.
He must feel the shift because he moves his arm, looking down at you with a soft, questioning hum. "Hmm?"
"What time is it?" you ask.
Dick reaches for his phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen before showing it to you. Your eyes widen.
"Dick!" You smack his chest lightly, trying to sit up. "We were supposed to be at the manor an hour ago!"
"Nooo," he whines, petulantly. He pulls you back down, wrapping himself around you like a muscled octopus. "It's fine," he mumbles into your hair. "We'll just be late."
You huff, giving in despite yourself, the warmth of him pulling you in as you settle back against his chest. But then he adds, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice:
"I'll just tell them we got a little tied up."
You roll your eyes affectionately, pushing weakly at his chest. "Six out of ten now."
He pouts, laughing, holding you closer as your sweat-soaked bodies press together. He peppers kisses along your face—your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—coaxing a reluctant laugh from you despite your fake annoyance.
You don't make it to dinner that night.
AUTHORS NOTE: yeah...i mean... yeah :D like i mentioned i def wrote this w stick the landing in mind bc ummm headboard!!! sex lovers over here!!!
i also kinda hate this bc its def not my best work, but also i havent written in forever so a win is a win!! my pretty prose isnt needed for two freaks to fuck nasty
