𖥻A LACE SURPRISE; ◜ dick grayson x top!male reader, .ᐟ
◜synopsis: dick grayson loves wearing pretty panties for you.
◜ tags/warnings: +18 content, MDI, top!male reader, reader has a big cock. messy ass eating. unprotected sex. creampie. dick grayson in panties, sub!dick. established relationship. lot of spit in this. dom!reader. smut. pwp. anal sex. blowjob.
◜ author's note: my first time writting smut, be nice to me.
The table was small, but you’d made it feel enormous, two plates, a bottle of whatever wine Dick actually liked, a scatter of low candles that winked against the glass and cast his cheekbones in soft light. You’d cooked too much, because you always did, and the kitchen still smelled like garlic and something sweet you’d reduced into a glaze. He was sitting across from you, eyes bright and dangerous in the candlelight.
He’d showed up in jeans and a soft sweater that made him look unfairly good, his hair pushed back but already falling into his face. Every time he smiled at you across the table, you wanted to climb him.
“Okay,” he said, after polishing off the last of the wine you’d poured. “Dinner was amazing. Atmosphere? Ten out of ten.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms like he was grading you. “But… I think it's time for you to see your anniversary gift.”
You raised a brow. “You got me something?”
Dick smirked, teeth flashing. “Oh, I did, baby.”
He stood, graceful as always, and rounded the table until he was behind your chair. His hands landed on your shoulders, warm and familiar, squeezing once. Then he bent low, lips grazing your ear.
He hummed, lips ghosting down your neck. “Want to see?”
You turned in your seat, trying to catch his expression, but he was already tugging at his belt. The soft clink of metal made your pulse slam.
He dragged the zipper down, hooked his thumbs in the waistband, and shoved denim down over his hips.
Black lace. Thin, sheer, stretched tight across him. The panties clung to every curve of his ass, every thick line of his cock, the dark hair above just barely visible through the fabric. A fucking bow sat at the waistband, right above his happy trail.
Your jaw went slack. “Holy fuck.”
He smirked, proud of himself, shifting his hips so the lace pulled tighter. “Happy anniversary, cutie.”
You reached out before you could stop yourself, fingers brushing over the lace. The fabric was soft, delicate, and under it Dick was already hardening. You palmed him once and felt the wet spot blooming against your hand.
“You wore panties for me?” you asked, voice rough.
You hooked a thumb in the cute fabric and pulled them down just enough so his pretty cock could bob free, long and pink and startling in the dim light. It was thick and eager for you, a little bead of pre at the tip. He bit his lip, nodding. “Picked ‘em myself.” He stepped closer, pressing your hand harder against his cock. “Figured you’d like unwrapping me.”
You reached down and took him in your hand, just a testing stroke, and he hissed.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “Please.”
You lowered your mouth, because you’d planned it that way all along, because you liked the way he shivered when you tasted him. You wrapped your lips around the head, slow, candle-tinged, tasting the tang of him and the lace and everything that was indisputably Dick. He was warm and wet and perfect, and he bucked into you with a soft sound that nearly made you laugh.
You sucked, deliberate, swallowing him inch by inch, feeling the slick heat slide over your tongue. Your hand threaded into his thigh and held him steady while your tongue worked the underside, the spot that made him jerk and press forward.
“God, that’s—” he started, but the sound dissolved into a string of curses when you took more of him, gagging him with your impatience for the rest. You eased back, then took him again, faster, greedy. Spit warmed the sides of your mouth as you went deep. He moaned, hands gripping your shoulders and hair like he might try to push you further down.
You hollowed your cheeks and sucked with expertise, your lips sealing, your jaw working, and he gasped. “You are dirty,” he said, breathy, eyes sliding closed. “You’re so—so good at this.”
He sounded desperate, and you loved it. Loved the way he needed you, the way his body answered to you like you were his map and his breaking point all at once. You bobbed your head, slow then faster, hot and slick sounds filling the small kitchen as you took him deeper. When you pulled back, you did it with a wet pop that made the candlelight sing, and his face was flushed and bright.
You didn’t let him rest long. The lace, the way it framed the soft of his ass when he shifted, called to something more ravenous in you. Your chair scraped back as you stood, grabbing him by the hips and spinning him toward the table. His hands hit the wood, knocking a fork aside, and you shoved his jeans the rest of the way down. Dick blinked at you over his shoulder, breath hitching.
He arched his back like he’d been waiting for it, ass perfectly round in that scrap of lace. The fabric framed him, riding up just enough to show the swell of his hole beneath. You spread his cheeks and spit, watching it drip down over the lace, wetting the thin barrier until it clung even tighter to him. He groaned, pushing back.
“God, you’re disgusting,” you muttered, grinding two fingers against the wet fabric. “Wearing panties just so I’d fuck you.”
“Uh-huh,” he hummed, shameless. “All for you.”
You pressed harder, rubbing spit into the lace until it soaked through to his hole. His body shivered, ass twitching as you teased. Then you hooked a finger under the waistband and yanked it aside, just enough to bare him. His rim winked at you, glistening from spit.
You leaned in and licked, slow and filthy. Your tongue dragged from his balls up to his hole, circling it before stabbing in deep. Dick moaned, head dropping to the table, palms flat against the wood.
“F-fuck—” he gasped, spreading his legs wider. “Keep going—don’t stop—”
You didn’t. You spit again, wetter this time, drool running down his ass crack as you tongued him open. The taste of him mixed with the lace, slick and hot. You shoved your tongue as deep as you could, nose pressed to the damp fabric, your hands spreading him wider.
He was rutting against the table now, cock grinding into the edge, precum smearing the wood. “Oh my god—baby—yes—”
You pulled back only to spit again, then shoved two fingers in, rough, curling them hard until he cried out. His hole stretched around them, sloppy and dripping, and you fucked him with your hand while mouthing over the lace still clinging to his balls.
He choked, bucking. “N-no—fuck, I’m gonna—”
“Not yet.” You smacked his ass, fingers scissoring harder. “You’re not coming until I’m inside you.”
You tore the panties halfway down his thighs, not even bothering to fully strip them, they clung in place, messy and wet. Then you pulled your jeans and boxers down to finally lined yourself at his spit-slicked hole, the head of your dripping cock pressing at first, then easing in inch by delicious inch. He hissed, hands scrabbling at the table as you filled him. The lace crumpled between you, a ridiculous, erotic smear of fabric, and you smiled looking at it, guiding your cock, slid it in deeper until he took you fully. The stretch made him groan loud, forehead thunking against the table.
“Big—fuck, you’re so big—”
You bottomed out, big balls smacking the back of the lace, and stayed there, grinding deep while Dick was clenching hard around you. You set a slow rhythm at first, punishing in its patience, letting him feel the length of you. The room was a chorus of soft sounds, his moans, and the squelch of slick sliding against flesh. You kept your hand on the small of his back, holding him, giving him the dignity of grounding as your hips rolled. He leaned back into you, pressing his cheek to the table, eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging crescent moons into the wood.
When you started to move harder, both of you lost the polite pretense of earlier. He called your name — a single, broken sound — then laughed, breathy and helpless. “L-liked your surprise?” he managed, head dropping.
“F-fuck, yes, you’re perfect,” you growled, slamming forward hard enough to rattle the table. “Wearing l-lace just so I’d fuck you stupid.”
“Yes—” he gasped, shameless like a cheap whore. “Fuck me dumb, baby, please—”
You grabbed his hips and fucked him hard, rough, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the wet squelch of spit. Each thrust shoved him against the table, his cock trapped between wood and lace. Precum smeared everywhere, soaking through the ruined fabric. You watched his muscles bunch and release, watched color wash his neck in hot waves. Dick was soft and fierce and absolutely yours in the way he clung to you, and you swallowed a laugh at your own good fortune.
Your hand reached around, gripping his cock through the lace, pumping him in rhythm with your thrusts. The fabric made it slippery, disgusting, your palm sticky with the mess.
He was a wreck at this point, moaning, drooling and begging for you. “Please—please—I’m gonna—fuck—”
“Come for me,” you ordered, snapping your hips deep.
He screamed as he came, cock jerking, cum spurting hot against the lace and smearing across your fist. The fabric was soaked, ruined, sticking to him as you fucked through his orgasm. His hole squeezed you tight, the muscles of his ass milking you in a way that snapped you forward, dragging you over the edge.
“F-fuck, gonna— gonna fill this pretty ass—”
You spilled into him with a growl, filling him up until it leaked around your cock, dripping down his thighs, soaking the lace even more. When you pulled out, the sight was obscene, his ass red from your hands, his poor hole gaping, cum leaking through black lace. He was panting, hair stuck to his forehead, cheek pressed to the table as he grinned.
“Best. Anniversary. Ever.”
You smacked his ass once more, watching it jiggle with a delightful expression. “Yeah. But next year, you’re wearing red.”
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