Plot: Jason wants you to learn self-defense in case he's not around, but he should've known you'd turn it into a game—batting your lashes, pouting, testing his patience at every step.
Words: 7k
CW: established relationship, fingering, breast play, explicit sexual content, mild power dynamics (teacher/student vibe), suggestive self-defense instruction, light manhandling, praise, and a whole lot of filthy tension
A/N: This one-shot is basically an expanded (and slightly smuttier, oops) version of a convo we had a few days ago about Jason teaching his girl self-defense. It spiraled into something much steamier than planned, but honestly... are we surprised? Big thanks to that little idea spark—y'all know who you are 🖤
Jason stands in front of you, arms crossed, looking down at you like he's really trying to figure out where he went wrong in life. Because when he said he wanted to teach you self-defense, he expected some pushback. Maybe a little nervousness. Some hesitation. At worst, some stubborn "I don't need to learn that, Jay, you're always with me" bullshit.
What he didn't expect was for your eyes to light up like he just told you he bought you a puppy.
"Can I learn how to stab someone?" you ask, voice soft, excited, like you're asking if you can bake cookies later.
Jason blinks. "What."
You nod, like this is a normal response. "I mean, obviously, I have a taser and bear spray, but I think a knife would be a nice addition, you know?"
He has to take a second to process. "You—you have a what?"
"A taser! And bear spray," you clarify, eyes shining like you're announcing your engagement. "Bear spray is way better than regular pepper spray, so that's why I have that instead. Been itching so bad to use them, but who knew it took eons to get assaulted in Gotham when you actually want to?" you let out a dramatic sigh. "Like, I've been ready for this for years. I am so fucking up the first stupid asshole who wants to try me."
Jason has to take a very deep breath before responding, because he doesn't know whether to be concerned or turned on. Like, he genuinely doesn't know what to do with this information. Because he came into this fully prepared to convince you that learning self-defense was a good idea. He thought maybe you'd be scared, maybe you'd worry about getting hurt.
Which, in hindsight, was fucking stupid.
Because yeah, you're his small, sweet, shy girl—at least 90% of the time. All soft smiles and warm cuddles, curling into his side, acting all innocent. But he should know better. Because you're also a menace. Especially when you're drunk.
And the thing is, alcohol makes you bold as fuck. Your mouth runs without a filter, and somehow, that always ends with either you ready to commit assault over the stupidest shit or getting him in trouble. Like that one time a guy tried to cut in front of you in line at a food truck, and before Jason could even blink, you were calling him a "dickless little piss baby" and offering to fight him over a fucking taco.
So yeah, he should've known.
"Baby," he finally says, rubbing a hand down his face. "You don't get to just manifest gettin' mugged."
You pout, arms crossing tight over your chest like you're trying to physically contain your frustration. "I'm not manifesting it, I just think it'd be fun."
Jason stares at you, unimpressed.
"Not fun fun," you amend quickly, eyes darting to his face as you shift on your feet, hands waving as if that'll somehow make your argument more reasonable. "But, like, practical fun. Who doesn't wanna kick some criminal ass?"
"Jesus Christ," he says, voice dry, incredulous. "Doll, no one just casually waits for an opportunity to fuck someone up."
Your pout deepens, bottom lip pushing out as you tip your head, batting your lashes. "You do."
His eyes narrow. "That's different."
"How?" You take a step closer, blinking up at him, playing up your sweetness like you're not actively trying to convince him to arm you with a knife.
He groans, tipping his head back like he's asking the universe for strength. "Okay, yeah, no weapons for you."
"What? Why not?" you whine, stomping your foot just a little, because this is bullshit.
"Because," Jason says, tone final, firm, like he's laying down the law, "I'm not lettin' my girl run around with a blade just waitin' for some dumbass to try her."
You huff, arms crossing tighter as you glare. "This is so unfair."
He scoffs, throwing his hands up. "Unfair—you—oh my fuckin' God, no knife trainin' for you and that's it."
Your jaw drops, scandalized, because how dare he? "Jay—"
"Fuckin' no," he cuts you off with a sharp look, voice absolute. "You don't get a knife."
Your lips wobble like you're actually sad about it. "But—"
"Jesus Christ, you're worse than me," he mutters as he pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing in deep like he's trying to summon the patience of a saint.
Which, let's be real, he doesn't have. Not when it comes to you and your innocent—and very concerning—enthusiasm for fucking people up.
"Baby," he starts, slow and measured, like he's talking to someone who's about to do something really fucking stupid. And honestly, maybe he is. "This is self-defense. Meanin' it's only for when you have no other choice. Got it? You are not—I repeat, not—goin' out of your way to stab someone just because you wanna see how it feels."
You blink up at him, lashes fluttering, mouth curling into the sweetest little pout. "I would never do that."
Jason stares. Stares. Because you're lying. Blatantly.
"You just said you've been waitin' for someone to try and mug you," he points out, voice flat, arms crossing again as he levels you with a look. "That doesn't sound like self-defense, baby. That sounds like premeditation."
You tilt your head, like you totally don't see the problem here. "But Jay—"
"No." He lifts a hand, cutting you off before you can even start with whatever bullshit argument you're about to pull. "No buts. This isn't a game. If someone actually attacks you, you do exactly what I teach you. No extra shit, no tryin' to one-up them, and definitely no pullin' weapons just because you feel like it. Understand?"
You nod, but it's too quick, too eager. Too much like you're just saying it so he'll shut up and move on to the part where he actually shows you how to hurt someone.
Jason sighs through his nose, jaw tightening as he gives you a slow once-over. "Say it back to me."
You bite your lip, rocking on your heels, playing up the innocence in your eyes. "I will only use self-defense if I absolutely have to," you recite, soft, sweet. "I will not go out of my way to fight someone, no matter how bad I wanna try out my taser—"
Jason groans, tipping his head back. "Jesus Christ."
"—and I will definitely not stab anyone unless I am in mortal danger."
He squints at you. "Are you fuckin' with me right now?"
You clasp your hands behind your back, swaying slightly, still looking up at him like you're the picture of pure intentions.
"No, baby," you say, voice syrupy and so fucking fake, and you can see the muscle in his jaw twitch, the barely contained exasperation tightening his shoulders. "I'm taking this very seriously."
"No," he mutters, rubbing his hand down his face again. "No, you're not."
You step closer, pressing your fingers to his chest, looking up at him through your lashes. "I am," you insist, voice so soft, so sweet. "Don't you trust me?"
Jason's hands drop to his hips, and he leans in, just enough to look you right in the eye. "Not even a little."
He exhales slowly, leveling you with a look that's somewhere between exasperated boyfriend and man barely holding onto his sanity. He doesn't know why the fuck he thought this would go smoothly. You, of all people. You, with your wide, innocent eyes and that suspiciously sweet little voice, who he knows is just itching to cause some kind of bullshit.
He should've seen this coming. Should've known.
Because realistically speaking? You rarely go anywhere without him. It's fucking Gotham, and he's Jason fucking Todd. Which means if you're not with him, you're with someone he trusts—or you're home, where he left you, safe.
Not because he's some controlling asshole who doesn't let you live your life, but because he's been out there. He knows what this city is. Knows how fast things can go from fine to fucked in the blink of an eye.
And not that the freaks here need a reason to attack people only at night anyway—God knows they don't. Broad daylight, rush hour, middle of the fucking street? Doesn't matter. Gotham's got its own fucking rules, and they don't care if you're just trying to grab a coffee or get home from work. But still, he thought it'd be good for you to at least have some self-defense training.
What he didn't think, was that you'd be fucking giddy about the idea of stabbing someone. He drags a hand down his face for what feels like the thousandth time, shoulders tensing as he looks at you again, standing there all sweet and so fucking suspicious.
"You're gonna be the death of me," he mutters, shaking his head.
You just beam at him, rising onto your toes to press a quick kiss to the sharp edge of his jaw. "But I'm cute," you remind him, voice sickly sweet, lips brushing against his skin.
Jason sighs, tilting his head down just as you try to step back, catching your chin between his fingers before you can get away. "Yeah?" he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours, thumb stroking along your jaw. "That supposed to make me forget you just admitted you're impatient to commit a felony?"
Your lips part, your breath warm against his, but you're still smiling, still playing that little game of yours, still batting your lashes like you're the picture of innocence. "Not a felony," you say softly. "Just... an act of self-defense that may or may not get me arrested, depending on the jury."
He groans, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head as his hands slide down to your waist.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters, voice rough, full of barely contained affectionate frustration. "You are so lucky I love you."
You giggle, bright and genuine, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing yourself into him like you know exactly what you're doing. "I know," you say, smug and happy, and fuck, he's so fucking gone for you it's ridiculous at this point.
Jason breathes you in, lets his fingers tighten around your waist, and kisses you. A slow, lingering press of his lips, soft enough to make you melt a little, teasing enough to remind you that he's got other ways of distracting you. And maybe he should've just started there instead of pretending this was ever gonna be a serious lesson.
But he pulls back, just enough to murmur, "You done playin', doll?"
You blink up at him, still smiling. "Depends."
Jason squints, lips twitching. "Depends on what?"
"Depends on whether you're actually gonna teach me now, or just keep kissing me until you forget about it."
Jason huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he pulls away, finally taking a step back. "Alright," he says, rolling his shoulders, glancing down at his hands like he's mentally preparing to deal with you. "Let's try to get through a fuckin' lesson, then."
You giggle again, soft and way too pleased, and he already regrets this, because he knows you're gonna try some bullshit the second he gives you an opening. He knows it. Can see it written all over your too sweet expression, the way you're still smiling, still batting your lashes, like you're not already planning your next move.
So he sighs, rolls his shoulders, and chooses to ignore that for now. Because if he wants to get anywhere with this, he needs to at least get the basics into your head before you start trying to murder him.
"Alright," he starts, keeping his voice even, professional. "This isn't a "how to win a fight" lesson, okay? You're not lookin' to beat someone. You're lookin' to get the fuck away as fast as possible. You with me?"
"Mhmm," you hum, tilting your head, still smiling.
Jason narrows his eyes, but moves on. "Gotham's a shithole. You're not gonna have time to square up and throw a clean punch. So this is about gettin' yourself out of a bad situation before it gets worse. You get grabbed? You break the hold and you run. If they're faster than you? You make sure they regret gettin' close to you in the first place."
You perk up, excited, and Jason almost groans. So fucking predictable.
"So," he continues, pretending he didn't notice, "most common grabs. If someone gets your arm—"
He reaches out, quick but controlled, his fingers circling your wrist in a firm grip. He doesn't squeeze, just holds, tilting his head down to meet your eyes. "What do you do?"
You think for a second, then— "Break their fucking nose?"
Jason lets out a rough chuckle, shaking his head. "Okay, yeah, that's an option, but first? You wanna break the grip. They grab your wrist, you don't pull back. You twist toward their thumb, push through the weak point in their hold."
He loosens his fingers just a little, giving you the chance to practice. You try it, twisting your wrist too quickly, too eager, but Jason keeps his grip light so you actually get the motion right, slipping out of his hold easily.
"Like that?" you ask, looking pleased with yourself.
"Yeah," he nods. "If they grab both wrists, same thing, but you yank up and break out of both at the same time. Quick, before they can adjust their grip. Got it?"
You nod, biting your lip like you're really paying attention, and fuck, Jason has no idea how much of this is actually sticking and how much is just you playing with him. But he moves on, because next is something he needs you to know.
"Okay," he murmurs, voice dropping slightly. "If they go for your throat—"
His hand ghosts up, barely touching, just resting his fingers lightly against your neck, so gentle it's barely pressure at all. But it's enough to make your breath hitch, just slightly, your body going a little still.
Jason watches you carefully, reads every microexpression, every little flicker of something across your face before continuing.
"People fuck this up in movies. You don't try to pull their hands off. You're not gonna be strong enough to break the grip outright, especially not if they're bigger than you."
He flexes his fingers slightly, just enough to demonstrate, to show you what he means before pulling back. "You wanna go for the thumbs. That's the weak point. Both hands, grab their thumbs, push out and down, then duck away. Got it?"
You nod, more serious, something thoughtful in your expression.
"Good," he murmurs, then gestures to your hair. "If they grab your hair—"
"Oh fuck no, I'd simply die," you say, deadpan. "That's my nightmare scenario, Jay."
Jason huffs a laugh. "Yeah, well, let's say you'd rather not die, baby. If they grab it, you don't try to yank away, or you're just helpin' them control you. You grab their wrist, stop them from jerkin' your head around, and you drive your knee into their fuckin' balls until they let go. Got it?"
"Got it," you echo, nodding, biting your lip like you're really thinking about it.
Jason watches you for a second, then takes a step back, flexing his fingers. "Alright," he says. "We're gonna go through these real quick, one by one, get the motion into muscle memory, yeah?"
"Yeah," you nod, lifting your hands a little. "Okay. Ready."
Jason nods, reaches for your wrist again—
And you go straight for his throat. No hesitation. Zero fucking hesitation. You move fast, hands darting up like you're ready to go for his jugular, and Jason barely manages to react in time, catching your wrists before you can dig your fingers into his windpipe.
"Jesus Christ," he barks, startled, holding you back as you giggle, eyes bright, too fucking pleased with yourself. "We are literally practicin' breakin' a wrist grab, and you go for my fuckin' throat?"
"It was open!" you defend, twisting in his grip, trying to move your arms, but Jason just tightens his hold. "Seemed like a good opportunity!"
Jason lets out a long, slow exhale, like he's praying for patience. "You are so fuckin' lucky I love you, I swear to fuckin' God," he mutters.
You just beam at him, but he's determined to get through at least one lesson with you before you either land a dirty hit or he ends up putting you in a fucking time-out.
It's a battle though. Because every time he tries to correct your form, show you the right way to get out of a hold, you're already one step ahead—twisting in his grip, shifting your weight, going for some batshit move you absolutely should not be attempting yet. And you do get it right, more than once, your motions smooth and sharp when you actually focus, but the problem is that you never just focus.
It's always followed by something else. Something you shouldn't be doing. Like now.
"Jesus, baby," Jason grunts, dodging just in time as you try, for the millionth fucking time, to go for his balls. "Do you have to aim there every fuckin' time?"
"It's a very effective tactic," you say, so damn pleased with yourself. "It's a vulnerable spot, isn't it? You literally said I should make them regret getting close to me."
"I meant them, pretty girl. Not me."
"You're just in the way," you say, batting your lashes, grinning. "Move, and it won't be your problem."
Jason lets out a sharp huff of laughter, shaking his head. "Y'know what? Fuck this."
And before you can react, he moves. Quick. Smooth. Controlled.
His arm hooks around your waist, the other sweeping your legs clean off the floor, and the next thing you know, you're falling, pulled down with him, but the landing is soft—the plush rug cushioning you as Jason twists, making sure he hits the floor first, his arms caging you close against his chest as you let out a startled little gasp.
Your hands press against his chest, pushing yourself up slightly, but Jason doesn't let you go far—his grip tight, his fingers curling against your lower back, keeping you right where he wants you.
He smirks up at you, all slow and lazy, something dark flickering in his eyes, and when he speaks, his voice is warm and rough, low enough to send a thrill down your spine.
"Careful with my balls, baby," he murmurs, the rasp in his voice making your stomach flutter. "I thought you loved gettin' fucked."
Your breath hitches, heat sparking through your veins, and Jason watches the way your lips part, your lashes fluttering as your grip on his chest tightens just slightly.
You let out a soft little giggle, feigning innocence, tilting your head as you trace a slow, teasing line over his collarbone, down to the fabric of his shirt.
"I do," you murmur, pouting a little, "but I'm also very dedicated to my studies, Jay. You wouldn't wanna distract me, would you?"
Jason huffs, his grip tightening for a split second before he shifts—one arm coming up, curling around your back as the other slips down, fingers pressing against your hip as he flips you under him in one smooth motion, his weight pressing you down into the rug.
"Doll," he breathes, tilting his head, his lips so damn close to yours, "I don't think you wanna study right now."
And then he kisses you. Slow. Deep. Messy. His lips part against yours, his tongue licking deep into your mouth, coaxing a sweet little whimper from you as your hands fist into his shirt, pulling him closer.
He kisses like he owns you—mouth hot and searching, tongue sliding over yours with purpose, like he's trying to taste every little gasp you give him. His hand slides up, fingers cupping the top of your head as he tilts it just how he wants it, deepening the kiss until it's all spit and need and heat. You can feel the groan rumble in his chest before it spills into your mouth, vibrating against your lips, low and rough.
Your lips part wider for him, letting him devour you, and he takes full advantage—licking into you slow and filthy, like he's savoring every second of it. His teeth catch on your bottom lip when he pulls back just a little, only to dive right back in, lips sealing over yours again like he can't stand not kissing you.
And fuck, you melt for it. For the way he kisses like you're something sweet he can't stop craving, like he wants to drag the taste of you out long and aching and endless.
His weight presses against you, his body solid, heat radiating from his skin, and when his thigh shifts, pressing between your legs, you let out a soft, shaky little sigh, your body arching up into his. Jason smirks against your lips, his fingers dipping under your shirt, warm against your skin as he teases up your waist, his touch light, slow, deliberate.
"That's what I thought," he murmurs, voice thick with want, "guess you're not so dedicated after all, huh, baby?"
And he doesn't stop there. His hand drifts higher, fingertips skimming your ribs before they finally close around your tits, squeezing, kneading, teasing you with slow, intentional touches. He knows exactly what he's doing, knows how sensitive you are, how easy it is to work you up until you're a whimpering mess for him.
His lips brush your jaw, then your neck, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin, dragging his tongue along the pulse that flutters under his mouth. His voice is deep, mocking, when he finally speaks, words warm against your throat.
"So damn insatiable."
And you are—grinding against his thigh, your breath coming faster, hips rolling like you need something—anything more than just the pressure of his leg against your cunt. Your nipple pebbles against his palm, and he chuckles, tugging your shirt up with one hand before leaning in and taking it into his mouth.
The heat of his tongue makes you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair as he sucks, his teeth grazing the delicate skin before he bites, just enough to make you jolt. Then he soothes it, licking over the sting, lips closing around the peak to suckle again, slow and deep, making you arch into him, chasing the feeling.
And he loves it. Loves the way you squirm, the way you whimper, the way your grip tightens in his hair when he switches to the other, dragging his teeth over the soft curve before his lips close around it.
He mouths at you like he's starving, like your tits are the only thing he needs to live. His tongue drags slow, lazy circles around your nipple before flicking the tip again and again, just to hear you whine for it. Then he sucks harder, lips sealed tight, cheeks hollowing slightly as he pulls another breathless moan out of you.
"Fuck, baby," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick and ragged, hot breath ghosting over the wet flesh. "These tits—God, you know what you do to me?"
He licks lower, wet and messy between the swell, then back up again—trailing spit like he wants you soaked everywhere, not just between your legs. His hands push your shirt higher, bunching it under your arms as he palms both at once, squeezing, thumbs flicking over your sensitive nipples, slick with his spit.
He leans in again, lips dragging between them like he can't choose which one he wants more, switching back and forth like he's addicted, like he's trying to memorize every soft noise you make when he tongues one and rolls the other between his fingers.
You're grinding harder, pussy practically dripping, every drag of his thigh against your clit making your whole body twitch. And Jason? Jason just grins, lips still wrapped around your nipple, watching you fall apart just from how he sucks your tits like they're his personal fucking addiction.
He hums against you, the sound dark and pleased, one hand sliding down, down, slipping past the waistband of your shorts.
His fingers slip between your thighs, pressing just right over the soaked lace clinging to your cunt, and he groans, low and rough, like he feels it in his chest.
"Jesus, you're so fuckin' wet, baby."
And you are—the fabric already drenched, sticking to you, barely anything separating you from the slow, teasing circles he's rubbing against your clit. But it's not enough, not when you're already aching, already needing more, and he fucking knows it.
You whine, hips shifting, trying to push against his fingers, but he doesn't give you what you want. Just keeps barely touching you, brushing his knuckles over the damp lace, the ghost of pressure over your pussy enough to make you whimper.
His mouth is still working you over, still licking at your tits, sucking slow and deep until your nipple pebbles against his tongue, until you're so fucking sensitive you can't stop the little noises slipping from your throat.
Your fingers tighten in his hair as your voice comes soft, needy. "Jay—"
He hums against your skin, tongue flicking over the peak of your nipple before he suckles again, just toying with you, like he's perfectly content to keep you like this—whining, squirming, so needy it's almost pathetic.
His lips curl against your skin as he finally lifts his head, his fingers still moving slow—teasing, barely pressing against your clit.
"Please what, huh?" His voice is thick with amusement as he brushes another lazy touch over your pussy. "What do you want? You were talkin' so big earlier. What happened, baby?"
You whimper, hips shifting again, trying so desperately to push into his touch, but he doesn't let you. Just holds you down, controlling the pace, the pressure.
"C'mon, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with mocking sweetness as he drags his fingers over your clit—slow, featherlight, barely enough pressure to give you what you need. "Say it. What do you want?"
Your panties are soaked, the thin lace clinging to your cunt, and you know he can feel it—the way your slick seeps through the fabric, the way it makes every slow, teasing brush of his fingers even slipperier, easier for him to keep you right on the edge without giving you anything.
Your breath stutters as you try again, voice coming out soft, desperate. "I need—" A sharp inhale as his fingers skim your clit, and fuck, you're so sensitive already. "I want you, Jay."
He makes a low sound in his throat, something that's almost thoughtful as he keeps up those infuriatingly light touches, the pads of his fingers gliding over your slick, swollen clit with just enough pressure to keep you right there, to keep you aching.
"Yeah? Do you?" he grins against your skin, his mouth moving to your throat, kissing, sucking until he knows it'll leave a mark. "Cause earlier, you were sayin' I'm in your way."
Your pout is immediate, your fingers tightening in his hair as you whine, frustration bubbling up in your chest. "I was just talking shit, baby—please, I need you."
But he doesn't budge, doesn't give you what you want yet, just keeps playing with you, his fingers teasing just right over your clit, flicking, rubbing, not letting you grind against him like you're trying to.
"Need me, huh?"
His voice is so fucking deep, rasping against your skin as his fingers finally slip beneath your panties, pushing the soaked fabric aside. You gasp when he spreads you open, fingertips sliding through your slick lips, smearing your arousal around as he grins.
"Jesus, baby, you're so fuckin' wet."
He loves it, loves the way you writhe for him, loves how fucking needy you are, even as his cock throbs, straining against his sweats, aching to be buried inside you.
But he doesn't care, not when he's having too much fun teasing you, playing with you, dragging his fingers over your soaked pussy like he's just getting started.
Jason groans, deep and gravelly, his mouth slanting over yours with a heat that makes your toes curl. His lips are rough, possessive, like he needs to taste every single moan he pulls from you, like he wants to swallow them down, keep them all to himself.
His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing you into parting for him even more, and you can't help but moan when he finally presses his fingers against your clit, circling the swollen bud with slow, deliberate strokes.
The slick, wet sounds are obscene, filling the space between your breathless little whimpers, your needy, muffled gasps as he works you, rubbing tight, precise circles that have your thighs trembling, your body tensing as he brings you right to the brink.
Your hips jerk as he drags his fingers lower, sliding through your soaked folds, gathering up every drop of arousal before he brings it back up, spreading it over your sensitive clit, making it easier for him to tease you.
"Fuck, baby," he rasps, breaking the kiss just long enough to nip at your lower lip, grinning when you whimper, "you're drippin' all over my fuckin' fingers."
And you are, your slick coating his fingers, making his strokes smoother, more precise, working you into a mess of needy little gasps, of desperate, helpless little moans.
Your head falls back against the plush rug as he grins, taking the opportunity to kiss down your jaw, nipping at your skin between murmured praise.
He finally—fucking finally—slides a finger into your pussy, sinking it in slow, making sure you feel every inch stretching you open. Your walls flutter around him, clenching at the intrusion, and fuck, he loves how tight you are, how you always squeeze around his fingers like you're desperate for more.
"That's it, baby," he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. "So fuckin' tight for me. You love this, don't you? Love havin' my fingers inside you?"
You whimper, nodding quickly, too lost in the slow, steady thrust of his finger, the way he angles it just right, making your cunt pulse around it.
"Yeah, I know you do," he rasps, a grin in his voice before he adds another, pressing both fingers deep, stretching you open as his palm grinds against your clit, sending a sharp, electric jolt through you.
You gasp, your hips rolling up, seeking more, but he just chuckles, keeping his pace slow, teasing, fucking you on his fingers with deep, steady thrusts that have your thighs trembling.
"Look at you," he murmurs, voice dark, full of heat, "takin' my fingers so good, baby. You're so wet, fuck, you're drippin' all over me."
You moan, making every movement smooth, obscene, the wet sounds of your pussy taking his fingers only making you more desperate.
Then he curls them, dragging against that perfect, sensitive spot inside you, and you cry out, your back arching as your pussy clenches tight around him.
"Yeah? That's the spot, huh?" he grins, doing it again, pressing his fingers just right, making your whole body shudder. "God, baby, you feel so fuckin' good squeezin' me like that. You gonna cum for me?"
And God, you need to, you want to, especially with the way his cock is pressing against your thigh, hard and thick, the heat of it searing through his sweats. The thought of him fucking you, of him stretching you open on his dick instead of his fingers has you whimpering.
Your pussy clenches around him, and he groans, fingers thrusting deeper, his palm grinding against your clit, rubbing, teasing, working you closer, closer, closer.
Jason groans into your mouth as he kisses you, lazy and wet, his tongue sliding against yours in slow, sloppy strokes that have you whimpering. His lips are soft, warm, but his kiss is hungry, deep and messy, like he's devouring you, like he can't get enough. And you—Jesus, you're already a wreck, your body trembling against him, your breath hitching between every filthy press of his lips.
His fingers fuck into you with a steady rhythm, curling deep, pushing against that perfect spot inside you, and you shudder, your pussy tightening around his fingers, so close, so fucking close.
"C'mon, baby," he rasps against your lips, his voice all low and wrecked, full of heat. "Let me feel it. Cum for me, baby, cum all over my fingers."
And you do. Your whole body locks up, pleasure hitting you like a shockwave, crashing over you in a hot, electric rush that makes your legs shake, your breath hitch in a broken gasp.
Your cunt pulses around his fingers, clenching so tight he can barely move them, your slick dripping down his hand as he fucks you through it, drawing out every last ripple of pleasure until you're gasping against his lips.
Jason fucking moans at the feel of you cumming for him, his fingers sinking deeper, fucking into your spasming pussy with slow, deep thrusts, coaxing every last drop from you. His cock throbs against your thigh, aching, needy, but he stays there, taking his time, watching you come undone.
Face all flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, your pretty little eyes all hazy and fucked-out, barely even focusing on him as you come down from it. Jesus Christ, he fucking loves this. Loves how you always get like this whenever he touches you—dazed and needy, wrecked and whimpering, like he's the only thing keeping you grounded.
His fingers slow, dragging against your soaked, sensitive walls, making you twitch, and he fucking grins.
"Fuck, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with praise, "that was so fuckin' pretty. So good for me."
His hand lingers, fingers still buried inside you, soaked with your slick, and fuck, you're still clenching around him, like your body knows what it wants.
Him. Specifically, his dick.
And he's so tempted to just fuck you stupid right now, to shove his sweats down and give you exactly what you need—his cock, deep, hard, relentless—but no.
Not yet. Because you've still got a lesson to learn. But first, Jason drags his fingers from your pussy, slow and lazy, feeling the way your spent little hole clenches down on nothing as he pulls away. He lingers for a second, fingertips slick and shiny with your arousal, and then he drags them over your twitching clit, making you jerk against him, a choked whimper slipping past your lips.
And then—because he's a fucking bastard—he tugs your panties back up, pressing the soaked lace firmly against your still-sensitive cunt, trapping all that messy, sticky heat right where it belongs. You whine, a pout already forming on your lips, and Jason just grins, bringing his fingers to your mouth, rubbing them over your lips, smearing the taste of you against them.
You know what he wants. So you open up, tongue peeking out, and Jason groans as he slips his fingers inside, watching as you suck them clean.
Jesus.
Your tongue swirls over them, slow and wet, sucking him in deeper, your lips wrapping around his thick fingers as you hum against them, letting your mouth get all sloppy as you clean every last drop. Your lashes flutter, heat pools in your belly, your cunt throbbing again as you think—you really think—he's gonna fuck you now.
Because that's all you can think about.
His dick. Hard, leaking, hot, stretching you open, sliding in and out of your desperate, needy pussy, fucking you deep, fucking you hard, pumping you so full of his cum it drips out of you.
But oh, you're so wrong. Jason watches you for a second longer, his control fraying at the edges because fuck, you look so hot like this, but then he pulls his fingers from your mouth, spit clinging to them before it breaks. He smirks, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, and then he moves, getting off you entirely.
You gasp, scandalized, blinking up at him in betrayal as he stands over you, adjusting himself with a satisfied little grunt.
"Baby, what the fuck are you—"
"Well," Jason interrupts, voice way too smug, "you didn't learn shit yet. Prove to me you can do what I told you earlier, and then I'll fuck you for as long as you want."
You stare at him, jaw dropping, because you cannot believe he just said that.
You sit upright, letting him pull you up from the floor, still gaping at him. "Jay, you can't be serious right now—"
He quirks a brow. "Bet."
You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, your lower lip jutting out as you glare up at him. "You're mean."
Jason barks a laugh, eyes gleaming as he tilts his head at you. "You're the one who agreed to learn self-defense, baby."
You whine, pouting harder like that'll somehow change his mind. "But I have a taser and bear spray—"
"I don't give a fuck."
You pout harder, but it's not working. Not even a little.
Jason just smirks, shaking his head. "The more you pout, the longer you waste time."
You stick your tongue out at him, frustration bubbling in your chest. "I hate you."
He just chuckles, dark and knowing, his gaze dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to yours. "Keep talkin' all you want, baby. We'll see how sweet you moan on my dick after."
Jason waits, watching, arms crossed as you huff and pout, clearly not happy about being denied, but then your expression shifts. Your lashes flutter, your lips part like you're about to whine, but he sees that little glint in your eyes—oh, you're about to try some bullshit.
And he's right. Because the second his hand reaches for you, you move. His fingers barely close around your wrist before you do just like he showed you—twisting toward the weak point by his thumb, slipping free in one smooth motion.
Jason's brows lift, and for a second, he looks genuinely impressed. But he doesn't say it, just rolls his shoulders and reaches again, this time wrapping his hand fully around your throat, fingers firm but not too tight. Testing you.
You don't hesitate. Both hands, grab the base of his thumbs, push outward, duck and pivot out of his reach—just like he told you. And it works.
Jason lets out a low hum, watching as you step back, grinning like you just pulled off the heist of the century. "Huh," he says, head tilting, that hot glint of approval in his eyes. "Guess you actually did listen."
But then he moves again, lightning quick, fingers aiming for your hair, and without even thinking, you go for his balls.
"—Jesus fuck!" Jason jerks back so fast you'd think you actually landed the hit, his hands immediately dropping as he glares at you like you just committed a war crime. "Alright, fuck this, I give up."
Your brain barely has time to process it before you're grinning, bouncing on your heels as you beam up at him. "I did it!"
"That's not—" he groans, running a hand over his face before glaring at you, but there's something hot in his gaze, something that has your stomach flipping. "Yeah, fine, you did it. Now c'mere, you little shit—"
His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, as he takes a step closer, big hands flexing at his sides. His jaw twitches, like he's debating how he wants to grab you, where he wants to put you, and then he just fucking moves.
He's on you in a second, hands snapping up so fast you barely have time to gasp before he's got you by the waist, pulling you right up against his chest. His grip is firm, possessive, fingers digging into your ass as he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you squeal, clinging to him as he starts toward the bedroom.
Jason smirks, voice dropping, rough and teasing. "Gotta say, baby, 'm real proud of you."
You preen, tilting your head smugly. "Oh? Does that mean—"
"Yeah, yeah, I keep my word." His hands flex, grinding you down against the thick, hard bulge pressing into your pussy, and your breath catches. His smirk deepens, dark and promising. "And you're gonna take every inch I give you."
And you did.
You took every inch, again and again, in every way he wanted to give it to you. On your back with your legs spread wide, face down with your ass in the air, straddling his lap while his hands dragged you down onto his cock, over and over until your thighs were shaking. He used every angle, every position, fucking you through the bratty attitude until all that was left were the soft, sweet little sounds you made when he hit just the right spot.
He stuffed you full of him each time, slow at first, like he wanted to feel every clench of your cunt, the way your walls fluttered around him with each stroke. But it didn't stay slow. Not when you were begging, nails clawing at his back, whispering his name like a prayer.
He came deep, again and again, grinding into you with a low, possessive growl as his cum spilled inside—thick and hot, dripping out around his cock every time he thrust back in. He fucked it deeper with each roll of his hips, chasing every last tremble from your thighs until you went all soft and pliant underneath him, wide-eyed and dazed.
No more teasing. No more smug little smirks. Just you—sweet, ruined, and wrecked just how he likes you.
Do the TikTok editors know how we BARK, HOWL, and ASCEND when they post these kinds of masterpieces?? Like do they understand the DAMAGE they're doing??? Because I'm going INSANE right now.
Plot: A training session with Dick gets out of hand. He's sweaty, you're desperate, and the Batcave's gym mat ends up being put to much better use.
Words: way too many because I'm a horny bitch who can't help herself ✋🏻
CW: established relationship, playful banter, teasing, nipple play, sex, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare, Dick just being Dick lmao
A/N: Kept reading and rereading @neontiger 's version of Jason (link here, because missing out on this hotness should be illegal) like a woman possessed, and naturally, my brain went, "But what if... Dick?" So here we are. Thank you for the delicious inspo, bestie!! 🏃🏻♀️
You groan as the blanket is rudely yanked away, making you shiver at the loss of warmth. But before you can even think about grabbing it back, Dick wraps himself around you like a human blanket instead. Bare chest warm against your back, one strong arm hooking around your waist, pulling you snug against him. And then come the kisses. Soft, sweet, pressing along your temple, your cheek, your jaw, everywhere he can reach, like he's trying to butter you up.
"Baby," you mutter, burrowing deeper into the mattress. "Too early."
"Too early?" he echoes, his voice all mock-offense as he shifts. "Sweet girl, it's nine-thirty."
You groan again, wiggling, trying to get away, but he just holds you tighter, one leg slinging over yours, caging you in.
"Mmm, nope," he hums against your skin, lips moving lower, trailing down the side of your throat. "No escape."
"Dick," you whine, blindly reaching for the blanket he stole, but he just laughs, keeping it out of reach.
You regret everything. Mostly, you regret what you said yesterday. Because yesterday, you were feeling good, work stress melting away after finally getting some time off, and you let yourself be tricked into agreeing to this.
To be fair, it's not unusual for you and Dick to train together. Sometimes you'll join him at the gym, sometimes you'll go on a morning run, and sometimes, when he's sparring in the Batcave, you'll do your own exercises off to the side, watching him work up a sweat as you pretend to stretch.
But this week? This week has been long. You're exhausted. And all you want is to relax—to sleep in, to take it easy, to enjoy your weekend without any training, sweating, or being tackled to the mat by your six-foot menace of a boyfriend.
And yet, here you are.
"Too damn early," you whine in protest, rolling onto your stomach and dragging a pillow over your head like it might protect you from your relentless boyfriend.
Dick just laughs, completely unfazed by your dramatics. Instead of backing off, he steals the pillow too, tossing it to the floor before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against his bare chest.
"Nine-thirty is early, huh?" he teases, fingers slipping under your sleep shirt, brushing absent-minded circles against your stomach. "You were all talk yesterday, my love."
"I was delusional yesterday."
He laughs, warm and fond, his lips trailing over your shoulder, lingering before he presses another soft, lazy kiss.
"C'mon," he murmurs, his voice dropping just slightly, smooth as honey. "The Batcave's empty. Begging for us to use it."
You groan, curling up tighter.
"Oh, baby," he coos, teasing, mouth moving up to the shell of your ear. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"
You try to squirm away, but he won't let you, just laughs against your skin, one arm keeping you firmly pinned while his lips wander, pressing to that one spot on your neck, the one that always makes you shiver.
"Dick," you whine, smacking at his arm, voice still drowsy. "I just got time off work. I don't wanna train, I wanna relax."
"Hmmm," he pretends to consider it, but you know he's not done yet. He never gives up easy. And sure enough—
"Come with me and I'll take you somewhere nice for dinner tonight."
That makes you pause. Not that it's unusual for Dick to take you on weekly dates even after all this time, but still, you turn your head just enough to glare at him, squinting.
"Somewhere nice nice?"
The corners of his lips twitch, like he knows exactly where your mind went. He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, grinning when you don't pull away.
"Promise," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.
You think about it for a second, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his bicep. You've been dying to try that one new restaurant—the one with the ridiculous waiting list that stretches out for months—but unless you get insanely lucky, there's no way you're getting in anytime soon.
Your eyes narrow slightly. "Okay. But only if you get us into that new restaurant I want."
His grin turns downright smug. "Consider it done."
But you squint at him, already suspicious. "...you're making Bruce pull strings, aren't you?"
He laughs, tipping your chin up and kissing you, soft and sweet, his breath warm against your lips. "Bet. It's the least he can do sometimes."
And, well... you just know you're gonna eat good tonight.
You lie there for a few more minutes, basking in the warmth of the bed, but you know if you don't get up soon, Dick's gonna manhandle you out of it himself. So with a deep, suffering sigh, you finally drag yourself upright, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before you shuffle to the bathroom.
The bright light makes you grimace—ugh, too early. But you push through, reaching for your toothbrush, going through the motions as you blink groggily at your reflection.
Next comes skincare, your hands moving on autopilot. A splash of water, a gentle cleanser, a bit of moisturizer. Then, concealer, just enough to hide how tired you look, and your brows, brushing them into place because, yeah, you might be about to get your ass handed to you in the Batcave, but that's no excuse to look messy. Except... your hair.
You groan, tilting your head, staring at it in frustration.
You washed it last night, and because you were too lazy to dry it properly, now it's sticking out in, like, twenty different directions—half of it flattened weirdly, the other half frizzy as hell.
You glare at it, fingers raking through the strands, debating whether to just throw it up in a ponytail and hope for the best. But no. No, you can do better. Braids. Two cute little braids.
You part your hair quickly, fingers working on autopilot as you twist the strands together, securing them into two neat tails, way more presentable than the disaster from earlier.
Better.
You admire yourself for a second, pleased, before you leave the bathroom and head back to the bedroom, only to come to a dead stop. Because Dick?
Dick is already getting dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed as he puts on his socks. And he looks so good.
The kind of good that makes your stomach flip, that makes you forget why you're even leaving the house, that makes you think maybe you could convince him to just... stay home. Because God.
He's in a fitted compression shirt—black, short-sleeved, clinging to his chest and arms, the fabric molding perfectly over muscle. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, sitting just right, loose and comfortable but still showing enough that your brain immediately starts short-circuiting.
He pushes a hand through his hair, his biceps flexing, and... yeah. Yeah, maybe training can wait. You could definitely stay home. You could definitely pull him back into bed, climb into his lap, and—
Before you can finish the thought, he glances up, lips twitching in amusement, like he knows exactly what's going through your pretty little mind.
Then he steps forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before murmuring, "I'm gonna go put my shoes on and wait for you in the living room, baby."
And just like that, the moment is gone. You sigh as he walks off, leaving you alone in the bedroom, your brain still running through every way you could possibly lure him back.
But no. You promised. So, with a grumble, you shuffle to your side of the closet, fishing out a pair of leggings—high-waisted, snatching you up perfectly—a matching sports bra, and a fitted t-shirt.
After slipping them on, you pause in front of the mirror, smoothing a hand over your stomach, turning slightly to check yourself out. Yep. You look good. And if you're going to get thrown around today, you might as well look hot doing it.
Before heading out, you detour to Dick's side of the closet, grabbing one of his hoodies, a habit you've never bothered breaking, because why would you? His hoodies are big, soft, and they smell like him—a mix of clean laundry, soap, and something distinctly him.
By the time you make it to the living room, he's already sprawled on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, scrolling through his phone with that effortless kind of ease that makes your stomach flip. He looks so good, all relaxed and stupidly hot in that fitted shirt, and for a second, you almost forget what you were about to do.
But you recover quickly, stepping up to him and tossing the hoodie onto his lap before leaning down to kiss him.
"Hold my hoodie for me a little, yeah?"
He chuckles, his lips curling into a smirk against yours as his hand slides down to your ass, giving it a playful slap.
"You mean my hoodie," he corrects.
"Same thing," you murmur, pulling away before he can deepen the kiss, just to be annoying.
He watches you as you turn away, amusement flickering in his bright blue eyes, but you don't miss the way they drift, the way his gaze naturally follows the curve of your ass as you move toward the hallway.
And that's when you decide, why not push him a little further? Just a little. Just to see how much self control he really has. So, when you reach for your shoes, you do it slowly, deliberately bending over, giving him the full view of your ass, the tight stretch of your leggings leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
And oh, you know he's watching. You can feel his gaze burning into you, can practically hear the way his breath hitches, the second he makes the mistake of looking.
Because holy fucking shit, you're not playing fair. He knows you're doing it on purpose, knows you're teasing him, but God, it doesn't matter, because the second his eyes land on you, his brain short-circuits.
Your leggings are so fucking tight, hugging every curve of your ass, accentuating the dip of your waist, the length of your legs, the way your muscles flex as you adjust your stance. And worse? The position you're in, it's like you're presenting yourself to him, back arched just enough, like you're asking for him to come up behind you, press his hands to your hips, and—
No. Nope. He needs to stop thinking like that. Needs to think about anything else before his dick gets the wrong idea.
So he clenches his jaw, forces his gaze upward, tries to focus on literally anything that isn't the fact that you are perfectly bent over in front of him, wearing the tightest fucking leggings known to man.
Taxes. The Gotham Knights losing. The last time Jason ate a chili dog in the Batmobile and nearly got murdered for it.
But none of it works, because you are right there, your ass right there, and he suddenly regrets everything. And you? You know exactly what you're doing, taking your sweet time tying your laces, shifting your weight just enough to make the fabric pull tighter.
Fuck. Dick shifts, jaw tight, exhaling slowly through his nose as he wills his body to calm the fuck down. This is fine. He can handle this.
He's a grown ass man, he's trained his body to withstand pain, he can absolutely resist the urge to grab your hips and grind against you until you're both panting. Probably.
When you finally straighten up, you glance at him over your shoulder, lips twitching like you know exactly what you just did. And all he can do is swallow down the heat rising in his chest, exhaling sharply as he leans back against the couch, feigning casual indifference.
Except he's not casual. He is fighting for his life.
But you don't give him a second to recover. Because next, you're grabbing your little backpack, stuffing it with water bottles and a few granola bars from the pantry.
And Dick? Dick takes the opportunity to get a little revenge. Because if you're gonna tease him, then he's gonna return the favor.
Every time you reach for something, he finds a reason to move behind you, brushing against your ass, his touch just light enough to be accidental.
But you know it's not. You know exactly what he's doing. And you refuse to acknowledge it. Because this is his fault.
He wanted to train instead of staying home and fucking you? Well, he's in for a treat.
A few minutes later, you're perched on the back of Dick's bike, adjusting the new helmet he got for you. Custom made, of course, because he never does things halfway. This one is sleek, perfectly fitted to your head, and worst—or best—of all, it has cat ears.
"Really?" you deadpan as you poke at them.
He grins, sliding his own helmet on. "You love it."
You huff, but yeah. Yeah, you do love it, even if you won't admit it out loud.
With one smooth motion, he swings his leg over the bike, settling into the front seat. The second he's in place, you wrap your arms around his waist, pressing yourself against his back.
"Ready, baby?"
You nod, giving him a squeeze, and the bike rumbles to life beneath you, and oh, God, that sound is so hot.
The streets of Gotham are uncharacteristically light on traffic today, which means one thing: Dick is putting on a show. He leans into every turn effortlessly, weaving through the roads with a confidence that makes your stomach flip, the sheer control in his movements making you hold tighter onto him.
And he knows it.
He knows exactly what he's doing, showing off just to feel the way your fingers tighten around his torso, the way your breath catches when he accelerates, taking full advantage of Gotham's rare lack of traffic.
By the time you finally reach the Batcave, your grip on him is ironclad, and he's grinning under his helmet. He pulls smoothly into the luxurious underground lair, parking the bike with a level of ease that makes you want to roll your eyes.
The second he cuts the engine, he shifts, tugging off his helmet before turning to you.
"Alright, sweet girl, c'mere," he murmurs, reaching for you.
You let him help you off, rolling your shoulders as he gently unclasps your helmet, pulling it from your head with so much care, as if it's some delicate thing. Then, without missing a beat, he cups your face and presses a soft kiss to your lips.
You hum against him, then pull back just enough to narrow your eyes at him.
"Showing off much?" you ask, raising a brow.
His lips curl, not even pretending to deny it. "Did it work?"
You huff, fighting back a smile. Yeah. Yeah, it worked. It always works. He grins, taking your hand and tugging you toward the sparring room.
Now, despite being called a sparring room, the space itself is borderline excessive, but then again, Bruce built it, so of course it is.
Half of it is a high-tech training area—sleek mats, an entire section dedicated to weapons, a reinforced wall for target practice, and state-of-the-art tech monitoring every possible performance metric.
The other half?
A fully equipped gym, the kind of setup that would make even professional athletes jealous. There's a ridiculous range of equipment, a custom-built treadmill that can handle inhuman speeds, racks of weights, punching bags, and even a climbing wall.
It's the epitome of form meets function—practical as hell but still exuding the kind of wealth only someone like Bruce Wayne could casually throw at a training room.
And right now? It's completely empty, just as Dick promised.
He leads you to the gym side, fingers laced with yours, guiding you toward a nearby bench. The second you sit down, you immediately pull out a granola bar from your backpack, peeling the wrapper with zero hesitation.
Dick snorts, crossing his arms as he watches you take the first bite. "Really?"
"What?" you mumble around your mouthful. "You dragged me here. Least I can do is have a snack first."
He chuckles, shaking his head as he kneels to retie one of his sneakers. "Fine, fine. Get your pre-workout in."
You roll your eyes, finishing off the bar while he straightens up, reaching for his arms to gently tug him closer. He hums, allowing it, and you press your forehead against his stomach for a moment, breathing him in, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.
It's comforting, being here with him, wrapped in the familiarity of his warmth. His hand comes up, fingers brushing gently over your braids before resting against the back of your head.
"You good, baby?"
You nod against him. "Yeah. Just stealing some energy before you kick my ass."
That makes him laugh, a soft, throaty sound that vibrates through his core. "C'mon, sweet girl," he murmurs, tilting your chin up with his fingers. "Let's start with some stretches."
You groan, but let him pull you up, following him onto one of the mats. And that's where the real trouble starts.
Because yeah, stretching is important, but why the fuck does he have to look like that while doing it? You drop into a lunge, arms reaching over your head, but your eyes immediately flick to him, to the way his muscles shift so fluidly as he raises his arms, tilting to one side, then the other. The dip of his waist, the flex of his biceps, the subtle little furrow in his brow as he concentrates. You swallow, quickly averting your gaze before he catches you.
Dick, however, is having a similar problem.
Because he knows—knows—you look good in tight clothes. He's been with you long enough to have that fact permanently ingrained in his brain.
But something about you in gym clothes, stretched out on the mat, moving so effortlessly as you go through your routine... it's really fucking distracting. He wants to focus, but every time you reach for your toes, your leggings pull just a little tighter around your thighs. Every time you twist your torso, the curve of your waist becomes painfully obvious.
And when you drop into a seated stretch, legs spread apart as you reach forward, touching your hands to the mat—
He looks away, running a hand through his hair, forcing his mind onto something else.
Training. Right. That's why you're here. Training, not staring at you like a teenager seeing their first pair of tits.
He thinks for a moment, considering their options. "Let's start easy. Some bodyweight exercises."
You shrug. "Sounds good, baby."
And so, the real workout begins, simple at first. A few rounds of squats, lunges, and push-ups. Some core work. Even a bit of light shadowboxing.
But the problem?
Neither of you can stop stealing glances at the other. Because yeah, the Batcave's gym is nice. Top-tier, expensive as hell, better than the majority of Gotham's gyms. But it's nothing compared to the view.
By the time you and Dick make it to the sparring mats, you're already sweaty, your body warm from the workout. Your muscles are loose, and honestly? You're feeling pretty damn good. That is, until you realize what exactly he's suggesting.
"Sparring?" you echo, eyeing him skeptically as he stretches his arms over his head. "With you?"
He grins. "Scared, my love?"
You scoff, rolling your eyes even as your pulse kicks up. "Oh, please."
But internally? Yeah, you're feeling the slightest flutter of nerves, not because you think he'd hurt you—he'd rather die—but because you know exactly what sparring with him means.
It means his hands all over you, gripping, steady, possessive. It means bodies tangling together, muscles flexing and straining, sweat-slicked skin brushing in ways that are not at all good for self-control.
And after an entire morning of watching him, of feeling him, of listening to every low groan and quiet grunt he makes while working out, his jaw tight with concentration, his shirt clinging to his chest in a way that should be illegal—yeah, you're in trouble. But you refuse to back down.
"Alright," you say, shaking out your arms, rolling your shoulders. "Let's do it."
His grin widens, eyes darkening just a fraction. "That's my girl."
The first round starts off easy—a warm up more than anything. He lets you get used to the rhythm, lets you test the give-and-take of each strike, each block. You counter, dodge, try to anticipate his movements, but he's so damn quick, it's like trying to fight a shadow.
He doesn't just react, he predicts. Every time you move, he's already a step ahead, his body fluid and controlled, striking with the kind of effortless precision that makes you realize just how out of your depth you are.
Or maybe it's just the fact that your boyfriend is also a vigilante and has years of circus acrobatics behind him, his body trained for this in ways yours never could be. He moves like it's second nature, like he was made for this—because, in a way, he was.
Still, you're holding your own. For the first few minutes, at least. But then? Then he grabs you.
It happens fast. One second, you're slipping out of the way of a jab, the next, he's got you pinned. Your back slams onto the mat, wrists trapped above your head in a solid grip, his weight hot and heavy between your thighs.
A soft sigh escapes you, and you blink up at him, dazed.
He's smirking. "Got you, baby."
Your pulse spikes. Because he's right there, hovering over you, breath warm against your lips, his chest rising and falling in sharp, controlled breaths. His body is solid, pressing into yours, his grip firm enough to make your fingers twitch.
You swallow, eyes flicking over his face. He's sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead, the curve of his biceps glistening, and you feel a deep, slow heat curl in your stomach.
But before you can dwell on it, he clears his throat, shifting slightly, the tiniest flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.
"Again," he says, his voice just a touch rougher than before.
You barely get to catch your breath before he's helping you up, stepping back, giving you space. And then you do it again.
This time, you push harder, trying to be unpredictable, trying to get the upper hand, but it's useless. No matter how fast you move, how hard you strike, he's always just a fraction ahead.
And once again, he gets you pinned. Your breath catches as your back meets the mat, your arms above your head, his body covering yours.
He smirks down at you. "Damn, baby. Thought you were tougher than this."
Your stomach tightens. Your fingers flex against his hold, your skin burning from the way he's pressed into you. He's so warm, his shirt damp with sweat, clinging to his torso, and it's honestly not fair how good he looks like this.
He releases you, pulling away with a smirk as he stands, offering you a hand.
"Again," he says, that same rough edge to his voice.
And this time? Yeah, you're not sure if you want to win or if you just want to keep letting him pin you down.
"Let me take this off," you murmur, voice light, casual, as if you don't know exactly what you're doing.
And then you strip. It's nothing dramatic, you just grip the hem of your shirt and pull it up over your head, letting it fall to the floor beside you. But to him? It's like slow motion. His breath hitches, his eyes locking onto you like he's been starved for weeks. Because that sports bra? The one you picked for function, for support?
Yeah. It's doing things to him. The snug fabric cups your tits perfectly, lifting them just right, leaving nothing to the imagination except the parts he already knows by heart. The curve of your cleavage is glistening with sweat, and the way the material stretches across your chest has his hands itching to touch, to grab, to pull.
His thoughts derail before he can stop them. Because he's seen them, felt them, tasted them. He knows exactly how sensitive your nipples are, how you arch when he flicks his tongue just right.
He remembers the way your back curves when he palms them, the way you gasp when he squeezes a little rougher than necessary. And his body? It reacts before his brain can catch up.
Heat pools low in his stomach, a sharp, throbbing ache settling between his legs as blood rushes south. His cock twitches in his sweats, already thickening, and he knows he needs to stop looking, needs to breathe, needs to think about literally anything else before this gets too obvious.
But then your voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, light and teasing. "Ready, or are you stalling?"
His gaze snaps up to your face just in time to catch your smirk—that playful, mischievous little curve of your lips, the one that always means trouble.
His throat works as he swallows hard, his voice a little breathless when he says, "Yeah. Ready."
And then, because he refuses to let you have the upper hand, he reaches for the hem of his own shirt and pulls it off in one smooth motion. The reaction is instant. You bite your lip, hard. Because your man? He's unreal.
Broad shoulders, thick arms, sculpted chest, all of it glistening with sweat, his abs flexing slightly with every breath. And then there's the happy trail, that perfect dusting of hair leading down, disappearing beneath his waistband, teasing at something you know way too well.
Something you know every ridge and vein of. Heat pulses through you, pooling low, making your thighs press together instinctively.
But then he is the one pulling you out of your thoughts, tilting his head, smirking just a little too knowingly as he murmurs, "You good, baby?"
It takes a second for you to process the question. "Yeah," you say quickly, shaking yourself out of it. "Just—yeah. Ready."
You try again. You really do. You focus on the fight, on strategy, on winning, but it doesn't even matter. Because it's the same as before—no matter what you do, no matter how fast or clever you are, he's just better.
And this time? This time when he gets you pinned, you moan. Because the second your back hits the mat, you feel it. The solid weight of him pressing you down, his thighs bracketing yours, his hands wrapped around your wrists, his cock—
Hard. Thick. Pressing right against your pussy through the layers of fabric between you.
A slow, drowning heat spreads through you, your breath hitching as you shift, and yep, it's worse. The friction, the pressure, the sheer heat of him against you, and your body reacts before you can stop it—hips tilting up the tiniest bit, just enough to grind.
His grip tightens. His breath shudders. And when you dare to glance up at his face? His pupils are blown wide, his jaw clenched, his expression caught somewhere between control and absolute wreckage.
"D-Dick, we—"
Your voice breaks, barely more than a breathless stammer, but he doesn't let you finish. Doesn't let you think. Doesn't give you a single second to process what's happening before his mouth is on yours, swallowing the rest of your words in a kiss so deep, so hungry, it knocks the air from your lungs.
And you don't even hesitate.
Your lips part for him the second he pushes in, a soft, desperate moan spilling from your throat as his tongue licks into your mouth, hot and claiming. There's no teasing, no testing, just need, pure and consuming, his mouth moving against yours in a rhythm that's all too familiar, all too dangerous.
Because it's him. Because he knows exactly how to kiss you, exactly how to angle his head, exactly how to steal the breath from your lungs and make you crave more, chase more.
And you do.
Your fingers twitch against his grip, your body arching instinctively, your thighs clenching as you feel it again. Him, grinding against you, his cock pressing right where you need it, rubbing so perfectly, the friction sending little shocks of heat straight to your core.
And he doesn't stop. Doesn't hesitate, doesn't hold back. He just rocks into you, slow and purposeful, letting you feel every inch of him, letting you squirm beneath him, letting the heat between you build with every slow, teasing thrust.
And God, you're getting so wet. You can feel it, the way your slick soaks through your leggings, the way it makes every drag of his cock feel hotter, messier, more desperate. And he notices. Of course he notices.
Because suddenly, his grip shifts—one hand still pinning your wrists above your head, the other palm pressing firm against your tits. Fingers squeeze through the thin fabric of your bra, teasing over your hardened nipples, making you gasp into his mouth.
And he groans—low and gravelly, his hips jerking forward, grinding against you just a little harder, a little faster, dragging another moan from your lips as your head tilts back against the mat.
He follows. Doesn't even give you time to catch your breath before his mouth is on you again, lips tracing the curve of your jaw, teeth nipping at the soft skin beneath your ear, tongue soothing over the sting before moving lower. Down, down, to your neck, where he sucks, hot and wet, marking you in a way that sends a sharp thrill straight through you.
And you whimper, hips rolling up against him, thighs trembling as he works his way lower, as his mouth devours every inch of skin it finds. Your collarbone, your chest, his breath hot against your sweat-slicked skin as he licks a slow, teasing stripe across the swell of your tits.
And then? Then he yanks your bra up. Not off, just high enough to free your tits, high enough to leave them bare, to leave them at his mercy. And he doesn't hesitate.
His mouth is on you in seconds, lips wrapping around one stiffened peak, tongue swirling, teasing, before he sucks, slow and deep, and the sensation shoots straight down your spine, leaving your head spinning, your body burning.
And then? Then he bites.
Just the tiniest scrape of his teeth, just enough to make you gasp, to make you arch, to make heat flood between your thighs as you moan his name. And he smirks against your skin. You're so wet.
You feel it—feel the way your slick soaks through your leggings, the way every slow, teasing drag of his cock against your clit leaves a damp, sticky patch against his sweats. And from the way his breathing shudders, from the way his hips jerk, just a little, every time he rubs against you, you know he can feel it too.
But does he stop? Of course not.
If anything, he doubles down, rolling his hips in slow, torturous circles, just to hear those little gasps you can't hold back, just to see the way your lashes flutter, your lips parting as another soft, desperate moan slips free.
God, you're a mess. Flushed and panting, chest rising and falling with every sharp inhale, your nipples stiff and aching as he blows a teasing breath over them, the cool air making you whimper.
"Baby..."
It's barely a sound, more of a breathy little whine, but he hears it. Feels it. The desperation, the plea. And it drives him insane.
He hums, mouth pressing to your skin again, sucking a deep, dark mark right above your breast before he pulls back, before his lips hover just over yours, warm and teasing, taunting.
"Yeah, my love?"
His voice is low, rough, but you barely register it, barely even hear him over the way his cock keeps grinding against your swollen clit, rubbing just right, just enough.
You moan, hips rolling instinctively, chasing more, chasing him, your hands trembling where he still has them pinned.
"I need you."
His mind goes blank. Because usually? He has a little more self-control. He thinks things through, considers where he's about to fuck you before he actually does it. But now? Now, that part of his brain shuts off completely. Because he needs you. Now.
He groans, low and wrecked, his entire body tensing before he moves—fast, determined, not even giving you time to think before his grip shifts, before he releases your hands and grabs you instead, folding you up so easily it makes your breath catch.
And then? Then he tugs. Your leggings, your panties—down, just enough to bare you, just enough to give him what he wants.
Jesus, your pussy is so wet. So fucking pretty, so needy, glistening in the dim lighting, slick already dripping through your lips, and the sight alone has his cock aching, has his hands shaking with the effort it takes not to just shove his sweats down and fuck you right now.
But he needs access.
So he yanks one sneaker off your foot, quick and practiced, and then your leggings and panties follow, just from that leg, just enough to let him spread you open, just enough to let him fuck you properly.
His sweats and boxers follow, tugging them down just enough to free his dick, and shit, he's so hard.
Thick and flushed, his cock standing heavy between you both, the tip leaking, smearing precum against the soft skin of your thigh as he moves, as he presses back over you.
Then he grinds. Slow, teasing, dragging his cock through your soaked folds, parting them with his shaft, slick and warm and so fucking wet that it leaves a shining trail along his length.
You whimper, hips rolling up, chasing it, your clit throbbing every time the thick, swollen head of his cock catches against it, sending little sparks of pleasure jolting up your spine.
But then he kisses you, and you just fucking melt.
It's messy—hot and needy, his lips slanting over yours, swallowing down every soft little sound you make. His hands grip you, one curled around your thigh, the other tangled into your hair, keeping you in place as he deepens it, as he drinks you in.
You moan, mouth parting for him, letting him lick inside, letting him taste the desperation on your tongue. Your hands slide up, burying into his dark hair, tugging, pulling, making him groan into your mouth, making his hips stutter against yours, his cock pressing harder into your soaked cunt.
And fuck, it's filthy.
The slick, messy sounds of his cock grinding through your folds, his precum clinging to you in strings, mixing with your own arousal, warm and sticky, coating every inch of him.
But it's not enough. You need more. You need his dick.
So you reach between your bodies, fingers curling around the thick, solid weight of him, and he shudders. "Shit—"
You guide him down, aligning him with your entrance, so slick, so ready, so fucking desperate to be filled. And he doesn't hesitate, doesn't even think twice before he starts to push in.
And holy fuck, the stretch—
Thick, hot, bare, his cock splitting you open, inch by inch, making you feel every vein, every ridge, every perfect, blissful drag as your walls squeeze around him, sucking him in.
Your breath catches, a long, broken moan spilling from your lips, your hands tangling into his hair, clutching at him as he sinks deeper. He presses his forehead to yours, panting, groaning, trying not to lose his mind completely at the way you clench around him.
But then he's bottoming out, buried to the hilt, so deep, so fucking deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.
He hisses when you move, when your hips lift just the slightest bit, when your walls clench around him, tight and wet and hot, making his cock throb, making his muscles tighten, making him feel like he's seconds away from losing it.
"Dick," you murmur, breathless, wrecked, your voice all soft and needy, your nails digging into his scalp as you shift beneath him. "M-Move, baby. Fuck—"
That's all he needs. He pulls out almost entirely, the thick head of his cock dragging along your walls, slick and hot and messy, making you gasp as the stretch flares up all over again.
Then he slams back in. Hard. Deep. Filling you completely, stretching your cunt so fucking perfectly that you arch against him, that you whine, that your thighs tremble as he buries himself to the hilt.
And then? Then he fucks you.
No teasing, no hesitation, just pure, desperate need. His hand grips your thigh, lifting it, keeping it up so he can sink deeper. So he can fuck you just the way he knows you love, making you feel every thick, throbbing inch as his cock drags in and out of your soaked cunt.
And God, you're so wet. It's filthy—the slick, messy sounds of your pussy taking him, of your arousal coating his cock, dripping down his length, smearing over his thighs, soaking the mat beneath you.
Every thrust is perfect, the thick, flushed head of his cock hitting all the right spots, grinding against that sweet, sensitive place inside you, making your walls flutter, making your stomach tighten, making your clit throb every time his skin slaps against it.
You gasp a moan, and before you know it, his lips crash against yours.
Hot. Messy. Desperate. His lips slant over yours, his tongue licking into your mouth, claiming, devouring, drinking down every moan, every whimper, every broken little sound he pulls from your throat.
You kiss him back just as hungrily, your arms wrapping around his neck, your fingers tangling into his damp hair, clutching at the dark strands as he pounds into you. His dick splits you open as he fucks you deeper, harder, faster, like he needs it, like he can't breathe without it. Like he can't breathe without you.
"Fuck, baby," he groans, his voice rough, almost wrecked, panting against your lips.
He keeps fucking into you, deep and steady, each thrust perfect, each grind of his hips sending sparks down your spine, making your whole body burn.
"Taking me so well, you feel so fucking good... so tight, so warm, so wet for me."
His words make your cunt clench, gripping him harder, and he feels it. You know he does, because he groans, his head tipping back for a second before he leans in again, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he keeps going.
"You love this, don't you?" he pants, voice laced with pure hunger, punctuated by the deep, wet slap of his cock sinking into you again and again. "Love how deep I am?"
You can't even answer. Your mouth is open, lips trembling, but the only thing coming out are these breathy, helpless little moans. You're too overwhelmed to form words, too caught up in the way he's fucking you—fast, deep, needy, like he has to, like he's got no choice but to ruin you.
And you're so close, you can taste it. And he knows.
"Cum for me, baby," he urges, voice thick with lust, with want, his cock grinding against that sweet, sensitive spot inside you, each thrust dragging his skin along your swollen, throbbing clit. "C'mon, love, let me feel you—let me feel you cum on my dick."
And fuck, it hits almost instantly.
A sharp, hot, blinding pleasure that shatters you, rips through your whole body. It makes your back arch and your nails dig into his skin as your walls tighten hard around him, squeezing his cock, sucking him in, milking him as your orgasm crashes over you.
Your cunt spasms, pulsing, clenching, and you swear you black out for a second, pleasure surging through every nerve ending. The intensity makes your thighs tremble, your mouth falling open in a silent scream before it finally turns into a choked moan.
And he doesn't stop. He fucks you through it, praising you, whispering soft, filthy things against your skin. "That's it, baby, fuck—so good, so tight—you're so fucking perfect for me, you feel so good—"
And it's too much.
You're still shaking, still clenching around him, and he's right there. His thrusts get rougher, his hips snapping against you faster, deeper, sloppier, chasing his own high because God, you're still gripping him so tight, still soaking his cock, your slick smeared all over his thighs, his abs, dripping down onto the mat.
"Baby," he groans, his voice shaking now, "fuck—I'm—fuck—"
And then he loses it.
His hips slam into you one last time, burying himself deep, his cock twitching, pulsing before he spills. Hot. Thick. So much.
His cum floods your pussy, filling you completely, coating your walls, his whole body tensing as he groans deep into your mouth, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you still as he fucks you through it, grinding into you, pushing his release deeper.
And you're just babbling, pleasure still wracking your body, your arms wrapped tight around him as you murmur, "Baby, I love you, I love you so much—"
"I love you too, doll," he groans, his voice hoarse, raw, thick with need.
His hips moving slower, dragging his dick through your still-clenching walls, letting you feel every inch as he gives you every last drop of his cum.
Then his lips are back on yours. Messy. Desperate. Like he's starving for you, like he can't breathe without your lips on his, without the taste of you, without the heat of your body pressed so tightly against his own.
And before you can even catch your breath, before you can even think, he's moving—flipping you over in one smooth motion, pulling you on top of him, his cock slipping out just a little before you sink back down, making you both gasp.
Your chest rises and falls against his as you try to catch your breath, but the way he feels inside you—hot, thick, still pulsing—makes it impossible to focus on anything but him. Your hands smooth over his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your fingertips, the way his muscles twitch when you shift, rotating your hips in a slow, teasing grind.
"Fuck," he groans, voice low, almost wrecked, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass, gripping like he can't help it.
You smirk, leaning down until your lips barely graze his, your tits pressing against his sweat-dampened chest, nipples brushing against his warm skin as your elbows hit the mat on either side of his head.
"That good, baby?"
His only response is a sharp inhale through his nose, a needy, helpless little whimper that shoots straight through you, settling deep in your cunt.
You start to move again, rolling your hips, letting his cock drag slowly out of you before sinking right back in, stretching you all over again. His cum makes it so messy, so slick, letting him slide in and out so easily. But the stretch is still so good, the fullness so perfect that you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning too loud.
He feels everything.
Your tight, fluttering walls squeezing around him, your wetness coating his dick, dripping down over his balls, making a sticky mess between your thighs. And he's sensitive, overstimulated from his orgasm, every slow, deliberate roll of your hips sending jolts of pleasure straight up his spine, but he doesn't care.
Not when you feel like this. Not when your body is wrapped around him, soft and hot and wet, moving with that perfect, lazy rhythm, dragging out his pleasure, making it last.
"Baby," he pants, voice breathless, desperate, his fingers flexing on your ass, squeezing, guiding your movements even though you don't need it, because he just needs to touch you. "Fuck, you're gonna kill me."
You hum, amusement curling at the edges of your pleasure as you rock your hips again, deeper this time, pressing your clit against his pelvis with each slow grind.
"You're still so hard," you murmur, nipping at his bottom lip before soothing it with your tongue. "Gonna give me another one?"
His whole body shudders.
"Fuck, baby—"
But you swallow the rest of his words with a kiss, slow and wet, all tongue and heat and need. He groans into your mouth, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, pressing you tighter against him as his cock twitches inside you, so fucking deep, so perfectly snug in the grip of your soft, soaked pussy.
His mind is a mess.
You're everywhere—wrapped around him, squeezing him, your scent flooding his lungs, your body moving so fucking perfectly against his.
He needs more.
His hands slide up your back, over your ribs, before grabbing your tits, squeezing as he thumbs your nipples, making you gasp into his mouth, your hips stuttering as another slow grind makes his cock rub against that perfect, swollen spot inside you.
"Baby," you whimper, your voice breathy, needy, your fingers tangling into his hair as your hips pick up the pace.
He groans, his lips dragging from your mouth to your jaw, your neck, his teeth grazing over your pulse before he whispers, "That's it, my love—fuck, ride me, just like that."
"Shit—baby—fuck, your dick—so deep, so good—"
The words spill out between gasps, between moans, barely coherent, your voice high and breathy as you fuck yourself down onto him, taking every thick, pulsing inch of his cock.
Dick is losing it. His hands are all over you—gripping your waist, squeezing your ass, cupping your tits, anything to ground himself. Because the way you're riding him, the way your tight, soaked cunt is squeezing around him, making those obscene, wet sounds every time you sink down? Yeah, he's barely holding it together.
And then you straighten up. Your hands plant on his abs, and you lean back just a little, just enough to let him see.
His stomach tightens, his dick throbs, because the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock, stretching around him, your soft, slick folds parting every time you take him to the hilt—fuck, it's perfect.
"Jesus Christ," he groans, his fingers digging into your skin, his hips bucking up on their own, because he can't help it. He needs more, he needs to feel more.
His gaze drags up, fuck, your tits—bouncing with every roll of your hips, your nipples tight and flushed, practically begging for his mouth, his hands, his teeth.
But it's your pussy that ruins him.
The way your pussy is slick, coated in your arousal and his cum, stretched so perfectly around him, your creamy wetness making a mess of his cock, dripping down onto his pelvis, smearing over his abs as you keep fucking yourself on him, taking him so deep, so fucking good.
He moves without thinking. One hand presses against your belly, feeling himself inside you, feeling how deep he is, how your pussy is gripping him so tight he swears he can barely breathe.
"Baby—" he pants, his voice wrecked, his thumb slipping lower, lazily rubbing over your swollen, soaked clit.
You whimper, your head falling back, your back arching, your pace stuttering for just a second before you grind deeper, chasing that feeling, chasing that pressure as you keep taking all of his dick, every inch, until the thick, sensitive tip kisses your womb.
"That's it, baby," Dick groans, his voice thick with heat, "fuck yourself on me—just like that, my perfect girl—"
Your moan is high and needy, your body trembling as you ride him, each grind of your hips making your clit drag against his thumb, slick and swollen, sending little shocks of pleasure through your body. His cock is so deep, filling you up so perfectly, every thick inch stretching you, splitting you open, fucking you into bliss.
"Look at you, love," he pants, his free hand gripping your hip, fingers pressing into your heated skin as he watches you, eyes dark and hazy. "So fucking pretty—so wet for me—taking my dick so fucking well—"
His words sink into you, hot and filthy, curling deep in your gut, making your walls flutter around him. He can feel it, can feel how close you are, how your pussy keeps clenching, getting tighter, slicker, dripping down his length, leaving a mess of arousal and cum between your thighs.
"You gonna cum, baby?" he murmurs, his fingers pressing firmer against your clit, rubbing tight, slow circles, making your whole body jolt, "gonna cum on my dick like a good girl?"
You sob out a gasp, your hips jerking, grinding down harder, chasing the release that's right there, coiling deep, burning hot.
"Dick—fuck—I'm—"
It hits you, slamming into you all at once, pleasure bursting through your body as you clench down around him, your cunt spasming, pulsing tight as you cum, soaking him, dripping down his cock, your whole body shuddering as the pleasure wracks through you.
"Oh, fuck," he groans, watching you come apart, feeling you come apart around him. "That's my girl—so good—so fucking good—"
You're panting, your body still trembling, your head light, and then he moves.
A strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you down, pressing your chest against his, pinning you tight against his body as his other hand grips the back of your head, tilting your face, slamming his mouth against yours.
You whimper into the kiss, your lips parting instantly, letting him devour you, tongue deep, filthy, claiming your mouth as his hips snap up, thrusting into you, deep and hard.
You gasp, the stretch overwhelming, still so sensitive, still fluttering around his cock as he starts fucking into you. His body grinds against yours, keeping you trapped against him, his cock splitting you open, every stroke pushing him deeper into your needy, messy cunt.
"More, baby—" you're moaning, panting against his lips, "moremoremore—"
Dick's mind is a fucking mess.
Because he loves you. Loves you so much it makes his chest tight, makes his head spin, makes his cock throb inside you every time you gasp, every time you moan his name, every time you take him like this, like you were fucking made for him.
And it's not just the sex, it's everything.
It's the way you kiss him, the way you look at him, the way you laugh, the way you love him. The way you know him, every inch of him, inside and out. The way you drive him crazy, make him weak, make him want to give you everything.
And he can't deny you. So he doesn't.
His hips snap up, harder, faster, driving his cock so deep inside your cunt he feels you twitch around him. Feels the way your tight, wet walls suck him back in every time he pulls out, making it so hard to think, so hard to focus on anything except the heat of your body, the desperate way you grind down on him, meeting him halfway, fucking yourself onto his dick as fast as he's fucking into you.
The gym echoes with it, loud and filthy, the wet slap of skin on skin, your breathless moans, his guttural groans, your gasps, his whimpers. His balls slap against your ass every time you drop down onto his cock, his sweat-slicked abs grinding against your swollen clit, making you jolt, making you tremble, your cunt drenched, dripping, so warm, so fucking wet.
"Fuck—" he gasps, "you're so—baby, I'm gonna—"
He's so close, and he knows you feel it too. The way his thrusts get sloppy, the way his cock twitches inside you, how his abs tighten with every desperate snap of his hips. And fuck, the way you're squeezing him, milking him, dragging him deeper—
"Baby—"
His voice is hoarse, breaking on your name as his fingers dig into your waist, grip tightening like he needs to hold onto you, needs to ground himself, because he's about to fucking lose it.
And then he does.
His head tips back, a strangled, wrecked moan leaving his lips as his cock buries itself inside you one last time—throbbing, pulsing, his cum spilling, filling you up so deep you swear you can feel the heat of it in your belly.
And that does it.
The moment you feel him pump you full, it sends you spiraling, your whole body shuddering above him as your cunt clenches around his cock, squeezing every last drop from him, pulling him deeper, holding him tight.
Your orgasm washes over you, hot and blinding, making you tremble, making you whimper, making your back arch as your hips rock, fucking him through it, dragging out every last jolt of pleasure, every last spurt of cum inside you.
You finally collapse onto his heaving chest, panting, shaking, wrecked, you feel the warmth of it seeping out, thick and sticky, trickling down your thighs, making a mess between your legs. You both feel spent, your bodies burning, slick with sweat, soaked in each other.
His breath is uneven, his chest rising and falling beneath you as his hand finds your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles, his touch gentle after how desperate he just was.
You whimper softly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, melting against him. He smiles, exhausted, dazed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple before he exhales, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close.
He lets you come back to yourself slowly, his hands soothing, gentle, as they rub slow, lazy circles into your skin. His chest rises and falls beneath you, the steady rhythm lulling you, and at some point, you realize that your heartbeat is synced to his.
You sigh, content, lifting your head just enough to press a soft kiss to his jaw, and he turns, looking down at you. His gaze is warm, fond, and when he leans in to kiss your forehead, it makes your chest flutter.
"Good, my love?"
A hum leaves your lips, soft, sleepy, your body still boneless on top of him. "Mhmm."
But then your eyes drift down to where you're still connected, where his cock rests inside you, where the mess you made together is seeping out, sticky between your thighs, and reality hits.
"But now we have to clean up here... and ourselves, if we're at that."
You groan, dreading it, and he chuckles, amused, voice husky when he murmurs, "Lucky for us, the showers are just next door."
That makes you tense, your eyes widening slightly as the thought hits you.
"But what if someone comes down and sees us?"
He grins, teasing, smug as he tilts his head. "If I remember correctly, you were the one who wanted to fuck—"
Your hand flies up, slapping his chest with a scandalized gasp as you pout, "That's not true! Don't be mean, baby."
His smile softens, lips twitching as he concedes, "Alright, maybe I wanted it a bit too..."
Your eyes narrow, lips curling into something mischievous, and before he realizes it, you squeeze your walls around him.
His breath catches, his hips jerk, and he hisses, his grip on you tightening. "Okay, okay, fine, yeah. I wanted to fuck you badly."
A soft giggle escapes your lips, satisfaction swelling in your chest as you murmur, "That's better."
His hand cups the back of your head, pulling you in, and when your lips meet, it's slow, lazy, deep. Your tongues tangle, your moans swallowed, your bodies still pressed so close, his cock still inside you, still hard.
And God, it'd be so easy to move again, to rock your hips, to keep going, to fuck him one more time, to feel him fill you up again. But you can't.
Because the last thing you want is for Alfred, or Bruce, or literally anyone else to walk in and see you like this. And from the way Dick moves the moment the kiss breaks, you know he's thinking the exact same thing.
He grabs your ass, keeping you tight against him as he pushes himself up from the mat—his cock still buried inside you, still stretching you, holding you open, making sure not a single drop of his cum is wasted just yet.
And he carries you straight to the showers.
It's only when he finally steps inside that he lets you go, slowly pulling out, his cock leaving you aching, empty, and the moment he does, his cum spills out of you.
It drips, slick, sticky, warm, sliding down your thighs, clinging to your swollen folds, coating your skin, And he watches, ravenous, his throat bobbing, his jaw tightening as his fingers twitch at his sides. Like he's tempted, so tempted, to shove his fingers inside you, to push it all back in, but he forces himself to look away.
Instead, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he murmurs, "I'll get you a towel in a sec. Go on, start without me, love. I'll clean there and join you, okay?"
And by the way his voice dips, the way his fingers trail along your hips, the way his eyes darken as they flicker back down to your messy pussy... you already know he won't last long before he's back on you.
You move quickly, unpeeling yourself from your clothes with practiced ease, trying not to make a mess on the fabric. Or at the very least, not a big one.
Dick's cum is still slick between your thighs, thick and warm, and the last thing you want is to ruin something you actually like, so you're careful, rolling down your leggings, stepping out of them with a sigh, before making your way to the nearest stall.
The moment you step inside, you turn on the water, the warm spray soothing as it cascades down your body, washing away the sweat, the heat, the lingering haze of your orgasm. But as you predicted, Dick is back in less than a few minutes.
You feel him before you see him, his presence enveloping you as he steps in behind you, his chest pressing to your bare back, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you in.
"Couldn't stay away, huh?" you tease, your voice soft, playful, a smile tugging at your lips as you lean into him.
His lips find your shoulder, his kisses slow, lazy, trailing along your damp skin as he murmurs, smug, "Didn't even try, sweet girl."
A breathless laugh leaves you, and you tilt your head back, meeting his eyes, warm, fond, filled with something deeper, something softer. And he leans in, kissing you gently, lips lingering, hands exploring, touching, holding.
You sigh into it, melting, your fingers tangling into his wet hair as his arms tighten around you, and for a while, you just stand there, pressed together beneath the warm spray, soaking in each other.
When you finally pull away, he reaches for the soap, lathering up his hands before running them over your shoulders, your arms, down to your hips, his fingers gliding over every curve, every dip of your body.
And you do the same, smoothing your hands over his chest, down his abs, over his sides, mapping him out, washing him slowly, lazily, as his lips keep finding yours, over and over, soft, tender, like he can't help himself.
And honestly? You don't mind.
By the time you're drying off, your body feels loose, content, your muscles relaxed, and you're just about to slip back into your sweaty clothes when he clears his throat.
"Here."
You blink as he hands you something. A clean set of clothes. Sweatpants. A t-shirt. Panties. All your size. All new.
Your brows furrow, and you look at him, confused, voice soft as you ask, "Baby, what's with these?"
He shrugs, rubbing a towel through his wet hair, his expression casual, like it's nothing, like it's not a big deal, even though it is.
"I bought those a while ago, just in case you ever need a change."
Your chest tightens, your breath catches, and you stare at him, stunned, warmth swelling, spreading, something tender and sweet blooming inside you.
Because of course he did.
Of course he thought of you, of course he made sure you'd have something here, something comfortable, something yours.
Because that's who he is.
He's thoughtful, attentive, he loves you in a way that's so effortless, so genuine, so all-encompassing, that sometimes it catches you off guard, makes you feel so lucky, so cherished, you don't know how to handle it.
And as you keep staring, he finally notices, his towel lowering, his lips quirking as he raises a brow.
"What?"
You just shake your head, a soft, disbelieving smile on your lips as you murmur, "Nothing... just can't believe how perfect my man is."
And when he grins, bright, boyish, so in love, you swear your heart skips a beat.
You both finish getting dressed, the soft fabric of your new clothes making you feel more comfortable, and as Dick pulls on his shirt, you take a last look around the gym, making sure everything's in the same state you found it.
Not a single piece of equipment out of place. Not a single sign that you just spent the last half an hour getting fucked stupid on the mats.
Though, if anyone actually stepped in, you're pretty sure the scent of sweat, sex, and Dick's desperation is still hanging in the air.
But otherwise, perfectly fine. Dick stretches, rolling his shoulders before grabbing his helmet, and you follow him out, stepping into the cool air of the Batcave as he swings a leg over his bike.
He glances at you, tilting his head toward the seat behind him, smirking as he says, "C'mon, baby. Let's go home."
And you do, sliding in behind him, arms wrapping tight around his waist, cheek pressing to his back as the engine purrs beneath you.
The ride is smooth, the city lights blurring past as he weaves through the streets, taking the longer route, letting the wind rush over you, cool and invigorating, as you just hold on, completely content, completely at ease.
By the time you get home, your body is spent, your muscles loose, and you barely make it to the bed before collapsing onto it, melting into the sheets with a happy sigh.
Later, after a much needed nap, you stir against his chest, stretching slightly as a deep, content sigh escapes you, only to freeze when you hear his voice, low, warm, pressing against your ear.
"Still up for tonight?"
You blink, sleepy, your brain lagging, trying to catch up, until it clicks. Your eyes snap open, and you gasp, breath catching as you lift your head, grabbing his arm.
"No way... We're going to that restaurant?"
His grin is instant, his hand sliding down your waist as he murmurs, smug, affectionate, "Yeah, my love, we're going to the restaurant."
And just like that, you perk up, excitement sparking through you, and you don't even hesitate before grabbing your phone and firing off a quick message to Bruce:
thank you thank you thank you!!!
And you make sure to thank Dick, too.
The moment you put your phone down, you don't even hesitate. You tackle him back onto the bed, giggling, covering his face with kisses, your heart bursting with love.
And he laughs, warm and fond, holding you close, soaking in your affection, right up until your kisses start drifting lower.
Your lips brush along his jaw, then his throat, slow, purposeful, your hands sliding down his chest, nails scratching lightly over his abs as you shift, slipping between his legs.
"Baby..." he breathes, voice already deep, already knowing, his cock hardening beneath his sweats.
But you just smirk, settling yourself comfortably, pressing a kiss just above his waistband, eyes flicking up to meet his as you murmur, "Gotta thank you properly, don't I?"
His jaw clenches, his fingers digging into the sheets, but he doesn't stop you when you tug his sweats down, freeing his thick, heavy cock, already leaking at the tip.
And you waste no time. You lick up the length, slow, teasing, swirling your tongue around the head before closing your lips around it, sucking lightly, making him curse, his hand fisting into your hair.
"Fuck, my love..."
You hum, taking him deeper, your mouth hot, wet, your tongue lapping against the sensitive vein running along his cock as you bob your head, taking him inch by inch.
He's panting, groaning, his hips jerking, and when you hollow your cheeks, sucking him down until he hits the back of your throat, his head drops back, a low, desperate moan leaving him.
"Shit, baby—fuck, just like that."
You whimper, arousal pulsing through you, thighs clenching, and you know he feels it too. Knows you're already soaked, already needy just from sucking his dick.
But you keep going, keep swirling your tongue, keep fucking your mouth onto him until he grits out a warning, his grip tightening, his abs tensing beneath your hands.
"Gonna cum, baby—gonna—"
And you take it. Swallowing him down, drinking every drop, his groans filling the room as he twitches, his cock pulsing against your tongue.
But you're not done yet. Because the moment he catches his breath, he flips you over, pinning you beneath him, and within seconds, his cock is sliding back into your soaking cunt, stretching you wide, filling you deep, fucking you the way he knows you need.
"Gonna keep you full all day, my love—fuck, you feel so good."
And you thank him with every moan, every whimper, every orgasm he pulls from you.
And after dinner?
Let's just say you thank him again. Bent over the dining table, his cock slamming into you from behind, tits pressed into the wood, his hand fisted in your hair, his groans hot against your neck as he fills you up.
Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader x Jason Todd
Plot: What was supposed to be a simple mission to stop Ivy takes an unexpected turn when her latest scheme leaves you, Jason, and Dick trapped, and at the mercy of some very potent pollen. With your minds hazy and bodies burning, boundaries blur, and well... things escalate fast.
CW: sex pollen, mutual pining, explicit sexual content, threesome, oral sex, overstimulation, unprotected sex, praise, cum swallowing, double penetration, creampie, slight pain/pleasure mix, lots of cum, soft aftercare, and overall just filthy degeneracy.
A/N: I don't know if this is what y'all had in mind with this sex pollen fic, but as you might've noticed, I'm a yapper. I don't do 'let's fuck and leave' type of shit. No, we're diving deep into the filth and the feelings. So yeah... this turned out way longer than expected, but your girl loves details 😭
The warehouse stinks of damp wood and fertilizer, the air thick with the scent of Ivy's latest eco-terrorist bullshit. You, Jason, and Dick move quickly through the dimly lit space, scanning for the so-called "pollen bombs" that intel suggested she was planting all over Gotham.
"God, it reeks in here," Jason grumbles, wrinkling his nose behind his helmet. "What the hell is she even tryin' to do? Make the city smell like a goddamn greenhouse?"
"Could be worse," Dick muses, flipping acrobatically over a crate before kneeling beside a sleek metal canister. "Could smell like Killer Croc's lair."
Jason makes a gagging noise, and you fight back a laugh as you crouch beside them, eyeing the canister. It looks pretty standard—small, about the size of a fire extinguisher, a simple pressurized trigger system on top.
"Think this is one of them?" you ask.
"Either that or the world's most industrial lookin' Febreze bottle," Jason mutters.
Dick scoffs, running his gloved fingers along the side of the canister. "Ivy's getting sloppy. This is—"
PFFT.
The release is instant. The three of you barely have time to react before a thick, pale green vapor hisses from the canister, spreading out around you in a slow, curling cloud.
"Shit," Jason curses, jerking back, but it's already too late.
Instinctively, he pulls you with him, yanking you closer to his chest as if that could shield you from whatever the hell is happening. His arm wraps tight around you, his body stiffening as the vapor swirls around all three of you.
The gas spreads, clinging to your clothes, sneaking past your masks. You inhale before you can stop yourself, and—
"Wait," you murmur. "Why does it... smell good?"
Jason and Dick freeze, both of them taking tentative sniffs. The air is thick with something warm and sweet—notes of honey and spice, deep and rich like fresh blooms in the summer sun. It's nice. So nice, in fact, that for a second, the three of you just... stare at each other, confused.
Jason exhales sharply, waving a hand in front of his face. "Okay. What the fuck?"
Dick coughs, looking around at the dissipating mist. "Maybe it's, uh... a trap? Some kind of knockout gas?"
"We'd be on the floor by now, Grayson," you point out.
There's a beat of silence. The three of you just stand there, letting the last wisps of the pollen drift away, waiting for some kind of reaction—dizziness, nausea, anything.
But nothing happens.
Jason huffs. "So lemme get this straight. Ivy had all these bombs set up, and instead of droppin' us where we stand, it just..." he gestures vaguely, "Makes Gotham smell better?"
The absurdity of it hits you all at once. A soft giggle bubbles up in your throat, and then another, until you're actually laughing, shaking your head.
"Damn," you say, breathless. "Deadliest eco-terrorist in Gotham, and she really just gave us a perfume sample."
Jason snorts. "The horror."
Dick rolls his eyes, standing up and dusting himself off. "Okay, well, if this was supposed to be some big master plan, I think we can call it a bust. Let's get back to the cave and let Bats know."
Jason claps a hand on your back, steering you toward the exit. "Yeah, yeah, before Ivy shows up and actually does somethin' dangerous."
None of you notice it yet. The subtle heat creeping into your limbs, the faint buzz just beneath your skin. By the time you're in the Batmobile, it's in you.
The car hums beneath you, the quiet rumble of the engine filling the space as Gotham blurs past the tinted windows. Jason's driving, one hand gripping the gear shift, the other draped lazily over the wheel. Dick's in the passenger seat, his mask still on, head tilted slightly like he's lost in thought.
And you? You're burning up, but not in a sick way. Not in an oh God, something's wrong way. It's just... heat. Low and thick, curling beneath your skin, settling deep between your thighs in a way that has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You tug at your collar, brows furrowing, but it doesn't help. Nothing does.
It's all there, wrong but right at the same time, pooling in the pit of your stomach, thrumming between your legs. Your thighs press together, the friction sending a sharp little spark up your spine.
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare out the window, pretending like you're not embarrassingly close to squirming in the backseat of the goddamn Batmobile like some desperate, needy mess.
Maybe it's just—God, maybe it's just them. Jason and Dick, sitting up front, broad shoulders filling out their suits, muscles flexing with every shift of the steering wheel, every casual movement.
That's it, you tell yourself. That has to be it.
This is just because you've been down bad lately, right? Because let's be honest, you've spent way too many nights with your hand or your toys between your thighs, gasping their names into your pillow. It's ridiculous how often it happens, how they've completely hijacked your brain.
Jason, with his sharp mouth, broad chest, big hands. That stupid smirk that makes your stomach flip. His voice, rough and lazy when he calls you "doll" like it's the easiest thing in the world.
And then there's Dick. All smooth charm and soft lips, stupidly pretty even when he's bleeding, the kind of guy who can talk anyone into anything. That boyish grin, those ridiculous acrobat's hips. The way he looks at you sometimes, all teasing and playful but just sharp enough to make you wonder.
Truth be told, you're painfully under-fucked. Gotham's dating scene is trash, and while you could technically take the edge off yourself, your current stash of sex toys is... underperforming. No matter what setting, what angle, it's just not enough. Not enough pressure, not enough stretch, not enough them.
Because the worst part? The part that keeps you up at night, panting into your pillow, legs shaking from overstimulation?
You don't think about some faceless, nameless fantasy. You think about them.
Jason, his big hands pinning your wrists down, his voice rough against your ear as he stretches you open. Dick, slick with sweat, his mouth everywhere, moaning into your skin as he fucks you deep.
Sometimes—fuck—sometimes, it's both. One of them eating you out while the other fucks your mouth, one stuffing you full while the other whispers the filthiest things in your ear.
Your fingers have been the next best thing, but they always leave you wanting. And now, sitting here, feeling hotter by the second, it's all rushing back—every desperate, aching thought.
No. You shake your head, pressing a hand to your cheek. Get a grip. You are not about to get horny in the goddamn Batmobile. Except... you already are. And you're not the only one.
Up front, Dick shifts in his seat, biting the inside of his cheek, his fingers curled into fists on his thighs. His suit is... well, not built for this. The material is thick, durable, but not forgiving. His cock is already half hard, twitching every time the car hits a bump in the road, the sensation sparking something hot and needy down his spine.
His jaw tightens. His thoughts have already turned against him, flashing back to every moment he's ever had to force himself not to look at you, not to stare too long at the way your suit hugs your curves, not to think about how sweet you probably sound when you moan.
But now? Now it's like those thoughts are pumping through his veins. He shifts again, pulling his hand over his lap, casually resting his elbow on the car door, tilting his head like he's just relaxing. But his fingers curl into his thigh, his cock throbbing against the fabric, and shit, he can't stop thinking about you.
He clenches his jaw. This is fine. He can just breathe through it, ignore it. Right?
Because it doesn't make sense. One second, he's fine, the next, his skin is tight, his pulse is loud, his body thrumming like it's been wired wrong. His mind flashes back to the warehouse, to the smoke. Shit. Okay. Okay, this is fine. Except it's not fine because he chances a glance in the rearview mirror.
And that is a mistake. Because there you are, brows furrowed, teeth sinking into your lip, looking so warm and soft and pretty.
He forces his gaze forward, but his dick throbs insistently against the fabric of his suit, demanding attention, aching in a way that has him pressing his thighs together and shifting in his seat, trying to be subtle about it.
But Jason notices, because of course he does. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, fingers flexing as he watches Dick shift uncomfortably in his seat. The way his chest rises and falls a little too fast. The way he adjusts himself as subtly as he can.
Jason grits his teeth. Goddammit. This is already bad enough. He's used to getting hard, and that's not really news, considering he's around you.
It's embarrassing at this point. He's used to this constant, low-level problem whenever you're near. The way his body responds to you like some fucking reflex. A glance, a laugh, a casual touch, and suddenly, he's half-hard in his jeans like a goddamn teenager.
But this? This is different. This is fucking brutal. The heat is unbearable, his whole body buzzing with tension, his dick pressing uncomfortably against his pants. And fine, maybe he shouldn't be thinking about you right now, but his brain isn't listening.
It's giving him vivid fucking images—your lips wrapped around his cock, your pussy stretched around his fingers, the little gasps you'd make if he spread you open, if he fucked you just right. He exhales through his nose, gripping the steering wheel tighter, focusing on the road. Not now. Not fucking now.
And then there's Dick. Sitting there. Shifting around. Acting all innocent, but Jason knows. He sees the way Dick's jaw is clenched, the way he's hiding behind his fucking hands, the way his shoulders keep tensing like he's fighting something off.
And that's a whole other problem. Because Jason does not get hard around Dick. But now? Now, his cock is aching, pressing insistently against the inside of his jeans, and it's fucking weird because Dick is right there.
No way in hell he's acknowledging this. He focuses on the road, breathing in through his nose, willing the heat to settle, willing the blood to go anywhere but his dick. It doesn't work. His suit is hot, the collar too tight, his whole body buzzing with restless, frustrated energy.
His fingers flex against the wheel. "Goddamn it," he mutters under his breath.
Neither of you hear him, and that is concerning. And then, Jason chances a glance in the rearview mirror, and you're squirming.
Not a lot, but enough. Shifting in your seat, pressing your thighs together, lips parted ever so slightly, brows still drawn like you don't even realize you're doing it. He forces his eyes forward, gripping the wheel tight enough to hurt.
Oh, this is so fucked. And he knows—knows—it's about to get worse.
The second the Batmobile rolls into the cave, you're out.
"Okay—" you blurt, voice higher than usual. "I think I'm gonna take a shower."
You don't even wait for their answers before you're practically sprinting toward the locker room.
Jason clears his throat. "I think there was somethin' in that fuckin' smoke bomb."
"Yep," Dick says, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking like he wants to say more but physically cannot.
Jason glances away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Y'know what, maybe she's right. A shower wouldn't hurt. Maybe wash these clothes, too, given whatever the fuck was in that shit is on us."
"Yep," Dick repeats, and then, without another word, both of them hurry toward the showers.
The locker room is sleek—clean lines, dark tiles, recessed lighting that casts a soft glow instead of that harsh, clinical brightness most locker rooms have. It's modern but comfortable, not cold or uninviting, just functional.
The walls are lined with neatly organized gear, each section personalized to its owner, creating a sense of quiet efficiency. Even the air has a faint hint of something metallic, like fresh tech waiting to be put to use. It's a space that serves its purpose, but it also feels like it's built for those who belong, making it almost... homey in its own way.
The showers are set up in a row, each with tinted glass dividers that fog up easily with the heat—not fully clear, but not enough to hide everything, either. No doors, no curtains, just a spacious, open layout that suddenly feels like the worst possible decision Bruce could've made.
Not that you're thinking about that. Nope. You're focused on the water cascading over your skin, the steam curling around you, the way your body still burns in a way that has nothing to do with the hot spray.
And okay, fine. You might be a little slow on the uptake, but even you have to admit now that this? This is not normal. You've never felt this desperate before. Not even after a dry spell, not even after the nights you spent aching between your sheets, body wired with need that just wouldn't settle. This is different. Worse.
You exhale sharply, pressing your palms against the cool tile as the water rushes down your back. Okay. Deep breaths. Just... get through this. It'll wear off.
Because your brain? Yeah, it's not helping.
But then you fucking hear it. Jason's low muttering as he steps under the spray, the deep groan he lets out when the hot water crashes over him. Dick exhaling hard, shifting around, the slap of water against skin as he pushes his hair back. And now, somehow, this is fucking worse.
It's giving you images. Images of Jason, big and broad and dripping, water sliding down his chest, over those stupidly defined abs, down to his cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs.
And Dick, all lean muscle and smooth skin, his own cock probably flushed and aching, his face tipped back under the spray as he runs a hand over his body, slicking up every inch of himself.
You squeeze your eyes shut. No. Nope. Not doing this. Not right now.
But the heat between your legs is unbearable. Your fingers twitch at your sides, your clit throbbing, aching for relief, and fuck it, you slip your hand between your thighs.
Your breath stutters, thighs trembling as you press your fingers against your puffy, soaked clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles. And God, you're so fucking wet. Soaked. You can feel it, slicker than you've ever been, dripping down your thighs, mixing with the hot water as you rub yourself with quick, jerky movements.
This should do. Probably. Hopefully.
You bite your lip, forcing your moans down, listening, but the water covers any sound, the steady rush of the showers masking the way you whimper when your fingers slide lower, teasing at your entrance, dipping inside just enough to send a shudder up your spine.
This is fine. They can't hear you. They don't know. Right?
Dick exhales sharply, bracing one hand against the tile as the hot water rushes over him. His body is wired, his skin flushed, his cock still painfully, achingly hard even after scrubbing himself down, after doing everything in his power to focus on literally anything else.
But it's not working. It's. Not. Fucking. Working.
His jaw clenches as he glances down, swallowing hard at the sight of his cock—thick and heavy, desperate, the tip drooling precum as it twitches in the air. Okay, he can fix this.
It's just... the pollen. That's what this is. Not him, not you.
It's just a chemical reaction, and the fastest way to get this out of his system is to handle it. Quickly. Before it gets worse.
So he wraps his fingers around himself and gives a slow, experimental stroke. The relief is instant.
A shudder rolls down his spine as his breath hitches, his hand tightening just slightly as he jerks himself once, twice, watching the way his cock twitches, the way another thick bead of precum leaks from the tip, slicking up his palm.
Fuck, this is bad. Because now, now that he's touching himself, now that he's letting himself feel it—you're there. Well, not right next to him. Not really.
But in his head? You're everywhere. Your mouth on his, warm and desperate, your hands roaming down his chest, slipping lower, wrapping around his cock, pumping him with slow, teasing strokes.
Your breath, hot against his ear as you whisper his name, your tits pressed against him, soft and warm, your nipples dragging over his wet skin as you shift in his lap, grinding against his cock, your pussy so wet he can feel it even through the heat of the shower. His pace stutters, his breath turning ragged as his hips rock forward, fucking into his fist like a desperate, needy idiot.
Because fuck, he is needy. And the worst part? You're. Right. There.
A few feet away, just behind that glass divider, water rushing over your body, slicking up every inch of your skin, dripping down your tits, your stomach, your thighs.
And he wants you. Has for a long time.
But now? Now, it's not just want. It's need, and it's fucking unbearable. His hand moves faster, breath catching as his muscles tense, his balls pulling tight, his whole body thrumming with the need to cum.
Because he just needs to cum, and then this will be over. Right?
Jason has the exact same fucking thought.
Because his dick? Yeah, it's not going down. Not even slightly. His head tips back against the tile, a slow, heavy breath hissing through his teeth as he fists his cock, thick fingers wrapping tight around the swollen length. He's had plenty of inconvenient boners before.
That's just part of the package when he's got you in his life—skintight suits, little smirks, the way you fight like you own the city, like no one can touch you.
Yeah, he's used to being hard when you're around. But this? This is fucking ridiculous.
His whole body feels wired, too hot, like there's an electric current running under his skin. His dick hurts, heavy and flushed, leaking against his knuckles as he starts to stroke himself, slow and firm, the pressure making his breath hitch. This should help. This has to help.
He forces himself to think about other things—literally anything else—but his brain? Yeah, his brain is not cooperating.
Because all he can see is you. Your body under the spray, your tits glistening with water, your ass round and perfect, your thighs slick and parted just enough for him to see the way your pussy clenches, desperate and aching.
And fuck, you're right there. Right. Fucking. There.
So close he could just step over, press himself against your back, run his hands down your body, feel the way your slick little pussy drips against his fingers...
Fuck. His strokes get faster, hips bucking up into his own grip, stomach tightening as he groans under his breath, low and rough, trying to chase that sharp, bright edge of relief.
Because yeah, if he just gets this out of his system, if he just cums, then maybe he won't be thinking about how he wants to bury his cock inside you so fucking bad he's starting to lose his mind.
You rub your clit in tight little circles, slick and needy, but it's not enough. The ache between your thighs burns hotter with every second, but you can't tip over the edge. Not like this.
Not with Jason and Dick right there, close enough that your mind keeps conjuring them instead of whatever weak fantasy you were trying to focus on. You bite your lip, hips shifting slightly as your fingers work faster, but it's no use, because all you can think about is how good their hands would feel instead.
Jason's fingers, thick and rough, stretching you open. Dick's tongue, wet and eager, lapping at you until you're a trembling mess. Fuck. You let out a shaky breath and force yourself to stop, frustrated beyond belief, body pulsing with need that refuses to be satisfied.
Meanwhile, Jason is in his own personal nightmare. Fisting his cock was supposed to help. He thought if he just got off, the unbearable need would settle. But no, he's still rock hard, twitching in his grip, and he's gritting his teeth so hard it's a miracle his jaw hasn't snapped.
It's worse because you're right there. He knows you're showering only a few feet away, completely naked, slick water running down that perfect fucking body of yours, and it's driving him insane. His strokes slow, and he tips his head back against the tiled wall, a groan tearing from his throat before he can stop it.
And that's when Dick stiffens. Not just in the obvious way, though yeah, he's still rock hard, still throbbing, and still aching for more, even after cumming. His skin is flushed, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, and his cock hasn't softened at all. He's still leaking, still desperate, and it takes everything in him not to wrap his fingers around himself again and just keep going.
Jason, who is definitely still jerking off. Heat rushes up Dick's spine, a mix of embarrassment and something else—something dangerous—curling deep in his gut. They're both fucked.
Then Jason groans again, and it clicks. Dick's movements still. His brows furrow slightly. And before he even thinks it through, his gaze shifts—just barely—toward Jason's stall.
Jason must feel the stare, because his grip falters. He huffs a breath, tilting his head to the side just enough that their eyes meet through the fogged-up glass, and—
Oh. Oh, fuck.
The realization is heavy between them, thick with unspoken tension. Dick's lips part slightly, his fingers twitching at his side, and Jason—still flushed, still panting—grits his teeth, dragging a hand down his face like this is somehow his fault.
"This shit is fucked," Jason mutters, voice rough and strained.
Dick sways awkwardly, still pulsing with unbearable heat, and nods. Jason swallows hard, and when his gaze flicks to Dick, he finds the same wide-eyed, panting, wrecked expression staring back at him. They're both so far gone it's pathetic. And if they're this fucked, then you must be even worse.
And then? You step out of the stall.
Wrapped in nothing but a towel, beads of water dripping from your skin, steam curling around you like a fucking wet dream. And when you lift your gaze and see them, your breath catches.
Jason is still gripping his cock, hand frozen mid-stroke, his whole body stiff. Dick is still hard, still flushed, his eyes wide and dark as he takes you in. The tension is suffocating.
You all know what's happening here at this point. You swallow hard, your body throbbing with heat, and realization slams into you: none of you are getting through this alone.
The silence is thick, the kind that clings, all steam and heat and unsaid words hanging heavy in the air. All three of you just stand there, dripping wet, but you're the only one still clinging to any semblance of modesty, wrapped in a towel that suddenly feels too tight, too hot against your skin.
Dick and Jason? They're just there. Naked.
And maybe you'd all just keep standing here, awkward and unbearably turned on, if Dick didn't clear his throat and break the silence.
"So, uhm..." His voice cracks a little, and he grimaces before trying again. "There was something in the—"
"I know," you cut him off, and your voice is not as steady as you'd like it to be.
Jason, ever the blunt one, just snorts. "Yeah, so jerkin' off isn't doing shit."
That gets a laugh out of you, sharp and a little breathless. "You don't say."
And you really shouldn't be looking. You shouldn't. But they're right there. And when you finally, really let yourself look, trailing your gaze over bare skin, all toned muscle and broad shoulders and glistening tattoos, your eyes flicker down to their laps.
Fuck.
Your eyes drop before you can stop yourself, trailing down to where they stand, cocks heavy and thick against their stomachs, hard and mouthwatering, flushed at the tip.
Jason's hands flex at his sides, itching to reach for you.
Dick sways forward slightly, like he's barely restraining himself, like he wants to drop to his knees right then and there. And you whimper. A soft, needy little sound you cannot take back, and it feels like the air gets sucked out of the room.
Jason notices first—of course he does, always the one to pick up on the filthiest shit—and his eyes darken as his fingers twitch like he's about to grab you.
"So," he starts, voice thick, rough, the kind that settles low in your gut. "Maybe we should, uh... try and help each other out?"
You snap your gaze up to his face so fast your neck nearly cracks, and when you glance at Dick, he's already looking at you.
There's no denying it. There never has been. The attraction between you three has always been there, simmering under the surface, never acted on, never spoken out loud. You've thought about it. Of course you have. Working alongside them, running into them on patrol, spending late nights at the manor or in Jason's safe house—how couldn't you?
You know they like you. They know you like them. But friendship has always come first.
You know you're all good; you get tested regularly, a necessity when you're constantly fighting Gotham's worst, and besides, you're on birth control. You could walk away, end this right here, but they're right there. Naked, wet, needy, dicks that have no business being that fucking big, let alone rock solid.
And you want them so bad. So you do the only thing that makes sense: you let the towel slip from your fingers and drop to the floor.
The second it hits the tiles, their eyes devour you. It starts at your face, flicking down over the curve of your neck, the soft swell of your tits, the dip of your waist, the plush of your thighs—until finally, finally, both of them are staring straight at your bare, aching pussy, slick already glistening between your thighs.
And they look wrecked just from seeing you. Jason's jaw clenches, a muscle jumping in his cheek, and Dick sways slightly on his feet, but neither of them speak, too caught up in the sight of you until Jason finally breaks the silence.
"Fuck," he rasps, voice rough and thick. "You're fuckin' gorgeous."
Your face burns hotter, if that's even possible, heat rushing to your cheeks as they reach out almost in sync, hands gripping the knobs on their respective showers, twisting the water off in one smooth motion before stepping out.
And shit, they're even bigger up close.
Not just big, but big. Tall, broad, all muscle, sleek and strong, shoulders wide, thighs thick, every part of them defined—from the solid lines of their chests to the way their abs flex as they move, glistening wet, drops of water trailing down their skin in slow, teasing paths.
But it's their dicks that have you aching, twitching hard, flushed, heavy, and when Dick's cock gives a sharp throb, you bite back a moan so desperate it nearly chokes you.
Jason steps in first, heat radiating off him as he cups your cheek with one big, calloused hand, tilting your head up, eyes dark and hungry as he leans in.
And then he's kissing you. Hard, deep, hungry. His lips move against yours, hot and insistent, tongue sliding into your mouth like he's been waiting for this, starving for it, and fuck, he kisses like he fights—possessive, dominant, all-consuming.
His other hand doesn't hesitate, palms smoothing over your skin, rough fingers sliding straight down to your ass, grabbing a handful, squeezing tight, yanking you up flush against him until his cock presses firm against your belly.
You moan into his mouth, body shuddering as heat coils in your gut, hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into muscle, every inch of him burning against you.
Behind you, Dick curses under his breath, and you can feel the heat of his stare, feel the way his breath comes out sharp, ragged, as he watches Jason kiss you like he owns you.
Dick steps up behind you, heat radiating off his body, slick skin pressing against your back, and you melt between them. Sandwiched, trapped, caught between two broad, solid bodies, both of them flushed and aching, cocks hard and hot against your skin. Jason groans when your tits press into his chest, and then Dick—fucking Dick—lets out the softest, neediest little exhale against your ear as his hands slide up your sides.
His fingers trace over your ribs, then higher, cupping your tits, thumbs rolling over your nipples, teasing, stroking, making you gasp as Jason leans in and kisses you again.
It's not like before. This kiss is slower, deeper, Jason taking his time to drink you in. His tongue licks into your mouth, lazy, hungry, and his hands roam, one gripping the back of your neck while the other settles on your waist, fingers flexing like he can't decide whether he wants to pull you closer or just hold you there and enjoy every shaky breath you make.
Behind you, Dick's mouth is everywhere—pressing open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, up your throat, teasing your ear as his hand dips lower. Fingertips ghosting down, past your belly, until they finally find your puffy, swollen clit.
You twitch at the contact, a sharp little gasp escaping against Jason's lips, and Dick groans, louder this time, pressing a little firmer, rubbing teasing little circles as he mutters, "You're so fucking wet."
Jason pulls back just enough to watch your face, brushing his thumb over your kiss-swollen lips.
His voice is strained, rough as he asks, "You okay with this? With whatever's about to happen?"
His eyes are dark, intense, filled with want but laced with concern, because they need this, need you, but not like this, not unless you want it just as badly. You nod quickly, already breathless, but Dick? Dick's not having it.
He dips his head lower, mouth brushing right against your ear as he whispers, "Use your words, love. We don't wanna push you into anything."
It's almost cruel, the way his fingers slow down, teasing, playing, rubbing lazy, barely there strokes over your clit when all you want is more.
"Yes," you gasp, pushing into his touch. "Please."
That's all it takes. Jason and Dick lock eyes, silent for a moment, and then? Dick nods once, sharp, decisive, and says, "Sauna. Now."
Jason groans. "Jesus fuck, Dickie-bird."
But he doesn't argue. He just watches as Dick takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, guiding you toward the sauna with Jason trailing behind, adjusting the settings so it's warm, comfortable—not stifling, just enough to chase away the cold still clinging to your damp skin.
And the sauna? Yeah, of course it's luxurious as hell. Bruce built it, after all. The benches are smooth, made from high-quality wood, wide enough to lie down comfortably, and the warm lighting overhead makes everything feel softer, deeper. It's the kind of place you usually use when you're sore and beaten up after patrols, when you need to relax and let the heat soothe your body.
But tonight? Yeah, you're about to use it for something very different.
Before you can even process what's happening, Jason spins you around, hands everywhere, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing.
You yelp, legs spreading instinctively as he hooks his arms beneath your thighs, locking you open, exposing you, presenting you, and Dick fucking drops to his knees.
"Oh, fuck," he breathes, eyes locked on your dripping pussy, hands already reaching, fingers brushing your inner thighs as his mouth parts in awe. "Look at you."
Jason groans behind you, rolling his hips up just enough to grind his cock against your ass, kissing the side of your head, whispering, "You should see what you do to him, baby. He's fuckin' mesmerized."
And Dick? He kind of is. His chest rises and falls in shallow, desperate breaths as he stares, like he's starving, like he can't decide if he wants to taste you or just kneel there and worship.
Dick's hands grip your thighs, fingers pressing firm, grounding himself as he leans in, eyes fixed on your swollen, dripping pussy. His breath stutters out, warm against your slick skin, and he groans, low and wrecked, because fuck, this is so much better than he ever imagined.
And he has imagined it. More times than he'd ever admit. Nights spent fisting his cock to the thought of you, to the way your suit hugs your curves, to the way you smell when you're close, the teasing, flirty little smiles you send his way. He'd always wondered if you'd taste as good as you look.
"Fuck," he breathes, his voice shaky.
With two fingers, he spreads you open, watching your slick drip, glistening in the dim heat of the sauna, and his tongue flicks out, hungry, catching a taste before he can stop himself.
And it wrecks him. His mouth seals over your cunt, tongue pushing deep, groaning as he devours you, hot and wet, lapping up every drop like he's been starving for it. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you steady as he buries himself between your legs, tongue stroking, circling, pushing in deep before dragging back out, flicking against your clit in slow, teasing swipes.
And the sounds you make? Insane.
Breathless, needy, these little gasps and whimpers that make Jason groan behind you, arms flexing as he adjusts his grip, holding you up like you weigh nothing. Solid and so hot against your back, his cock pressing thick against your ass, twitching every time you moan.
"Fuck, Grayson," Jason mutters, voice strained. "She's gonna lose it."
And you are.
Because fuck, Dick knows how to eat pussy. He's skilled, dedicated, every lick and suck sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He moans into you, the vibrations making you shudder, thighs trying to squeeze together, but Jason's grip doesn't let you move.
"Feels good, huh, baby?" Jason murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, his tone all smug and filthy, like he's enjoying this just as much as Dick is.
You can't even speak. Your fingers tangle in Dick's damp hair, clutching hard, back arching against Jason's chest as Dick flicks his tongue against your clit in quick, teasing strokes, like he knows exactly how to unravel you.
Jason groans behind you, his arms tightening around your legs. When your head falls against his shoulder and your eyes meet his, he kisses you.
Hard, deep, like he's claiming you, like he needs you just as much as Dick does. His tongue licks into your mouth, swallowing your moans, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, bruising.
You whimper against his lips, and he groans, rolling his hips against your ass, grinding his cock against you, needing friction, needing something, because fuck, this is too much.
And Dick? He just moans against your pussy, tongue fucking into you, making you shudder so hard Jason has to tighten his grip just to keep you steady.
"So fucking good," Dick mutters, pulling back just enough to flick his tongue over your clit before sucking it into his mouth, making you sob his name. "So sweet. Fuck, I could eat you for hours."
Jason breaks the kiss just to groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "Christ, Dickie, you're gonna kill her."
Dick grins against your skin, licking another slow, teasing stripe up your pussy, savoring the way you twitch, the way your fingers tighten in his hair, the way your little gasps turn into full whimpers, desperate and broken.
His fingers ghost over your entrance, teasing, barely there, making your pussy clench on nothing. You squirm in Jason's hold, breath hitching as anticipation coils tight in your stomach, but Dick takes his time. Watches the way you drip for him, spread open and helpless, Jason's arms locked under your thighs to keep you wide and vulnerable.
"Fuck," Dick rasps, his voice thick with arousal, his breath hot against your pussy. "You're soaked."
His thumbs part your folds, and he groans at the sight—slick, glistening, so fucking pretty. His tongue flicks over your clit again, and your whole body jerks, a whimper spilling from your lips.
Jason tightens his grip, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his cock twitching against you as he murmurs, "Easy, baby. Let him take care of you."
And fuck, Dick does take care of you. His mouth works you over, tongue lapping at your swollen clit, lips wrapping around it to suck, firm and slow, drawing needy little noises from your throat. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady, keeping you from writhing too much even though all you want to do is grind against his face, chase the pleasure that's building fast.
Then his fingers press at your entrance again, just the tips, teasing, and you moan, the need to be filled overwhelming. He chuckles against you, the vibration sending another pulse of heat through your core before he finally pushes a finger inside.
It's so much thicker than yours, so much longer, stretching you just enough to make your walls flutter around it. He eases it in, lets you adjust, then curls it up, searching, until—
"Fuck—" you gasp, back arching as he finds that spot, rubbing against it before sliding another finger in beside the first.
The stretch burns just a little, but the way he moves them—God, the way they scissor inside you, slick and warm, thrusting deep—has your mind blanking.
"Feel good, sweetheart?" Jason murmurs, brushing his lips along your jaw, hands adjusting their grip on your thighs as he holds you steady.
You nod frantically, but it's not enough. Not when you feel like you're unraveling from just this. "More," you breathe. "Please."
Dick groans like the plea physically pains him, but he doesn't stop, doesn't hesitate. His fingers thrust deeper, faster, stretching you open as his lips wrap around your clit again, sucking just right, tongue flicking against the swollen bud.
Your thighs tremble, pleasure tightening, the slick sounds of his fingers fucking into you obscene, messy, wet. You're dripping, leaking down his hand, onto his wrist, but he doesn't care. His cock is throbbing, leaking against his stomach, but he doesn't fucking care.
All he wants is to make you cum on his tongue. And God, you're close. You can feel it winding tighter and tighter, pleasure curling deep, building fast. Your mind is spinning, flooded with heat and hunger, desperate to feel them everywhere. Their mouths, their hands, their dicks stretching you wide—
Fuck, you're gonna cum.
It hits you fast. A sharp, electric snap of pleasure, burning through every nerve, sending you spiraling. Your whole body locks up, and then, you're cumming, and it's so much. Your cunt tightens around Dick's fingers, pulsing, fluttering, sucking him deeper as wave after wave of heat crashes through you.
It's almost too much. Your thighs tremble, your back arches, and a broken moan spills from your lips as your orgasm drags you under, pleasure rippling through every inch of you. You don't know if it's that fucking pollen messing with you or if Dick just knows how to make you come undone like this, but it feels insane. Shattering, like you're falling apart in Jason's arms, completely helpless to the pleasure tearing through you.
But Dick doesn't stop. He fucks you through it, thrusting his fingers deep, curling them just right, rubbing against that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. His mouth stays locked around your clit, sucking, flicking his tongue over it, dragging you higher, stretching out your orgasm until it's too much, too intense.
All you can do is choke out a breathless, "D-Dick, wait—"
But he doesn't.
Your body jerks, overwhelmed, but he doesn't stop. His fingers work you open, deep and relentless, his tongue still lapping at your clit, pushing, pushing—
And then you gush. A sharp, full body shudder racks through you as hot, slick arousal pours from your cunt, drenching his fingers, his wrist, his fucking face.
It splashes against the sauna floor, and heat flares in your chest, embarrassment creeping up your spine as you gasp, "S-shit, I'm s-sorry—"
Jason lets out a rough groan, voice thick with arousal. "Fuck. A squirter, huh? That's so fuckin' hot, doll."
Dick doesn't care. He doesn't stop. His mouth stays on you, licking up every drop, his fingers fucking you slow, coaxing another trembling aftershock out of your spent, twitching cunt.
Your body is wrecked, boneless in Jason's grip, but Dick soothes you. Soft kisses pressed to your puffy clit, to your inner thighs, murmured praises against your overheated skin.
Jason groans against your ear, nipping at your jaw as he murmurs, "So pretty when you lose it, baby."
Dick finally pulls his fingers from your soaked pussy, and you whimper at the emptiness, body still twitching in the aftermath. He stands up, lifting his hand between you, watching the way your slick drips from his fingers before he licks them clean, moaning like he just tasted the best thing in the world.
And then he's kissing you.
It's not like Jason's kisses—Jason devours you, rough and desperate, all teeth and tongue. Dick? Dick takes his time. His lips move slow over yours, teasing, coaxing, his tongue sliding into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him.
His cock grinds against your swollen, soaked pussy, dragging thick and leaking between your folds, and you feel the heat of Jason against your back as he presses closer, lips finding your neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving marks.
Dick pulls back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with need.
"You still with us, love?" he murmurs, voice low, sweet, but so thick with hunger.
And you are. But you need more. Jason slowly lowers you to the ground, careful, like he knows your legs won't hold you up yet. And he's right. The second your feet touch the sauna floor, your knees almost buckle, but they're right there.
Jason's strong hands steady your waist, while Dick's arms wrap around you, letting you melt against his chest, your cheek pressed to his flushed, sweat-damp skin. His heartbeat is racing, just like yours.
They try to soothe you, even though they're still buzzing with need, cocks aching, pulsing, leaking against your skin. You can feel it, how hard they both are, how they're holding back, muscles tensed like they're barely keeping themselves together.
Dick's fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your head up as he murmurs, "You okay?"
His voice is strained, rough with hunger he's barely keeping in check.
You nod, breathless. "I need more. I want you both, I want—"
Jason groans, low and wrecked, because fuck, his dick hurts, throbbing, hot, swollen with need. He's usually not like this—he's got control, he can push past anything, but this?
That fucking pollen? His logic is gone. The only thing left is the raw, aching need clawing at his gut, the sight of you, flushed and needy, still dripping from what Dick did to you.
"You sure?" Dick asks, voice tight, hesitant, because they care, because you're friends, because this is everything all at once.
"Yes," you gasp. "Fuck, I can't—I need more."
They try to resist. Try to be good, to be the men who have held themselves back all these years, who have ignored the teasing, the tension, the way you've always looked at them.
But it's too much. You're naked, hot, trembling between them, still soaked with slick and sweat, so fucking desperate for them, just like they are for you.
They exchange a look, like they're about to actually say something, like they're going to make one last attempt at self-control.
But you're having none of it.
You grab both their hands, lacing your fingers with theirs as you guide them toward one of the benches, the air thick with tension, steam, and the undeniable pull of something you've all been trying to ignore for too long.
You stop in front of Dick, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as you say, "Sit down."
And he does, because of course he does. Because he knows better than to fuck with you when you've made up your mind, and even though you're smaller than both of them, you've always had a way of getting what you want.
You grab a few towels, spreading them on the floor in front of him because, honestly? Your body is already gonna be wrecked when this is over—bruises, hickeys, everything—and you really don't need your knees all fucked up on top of it.
Then, slowly, you kneel between his legs.
Jason is still standing behind you, watching, stunned, because sure, you've always been bold. You've flirted, teased, laughed in their faces when they tried to resist you, but this? This is something else.
You turn your head, looking up at Jason through heavy lashes, and say, "I need you to fuck me while I suck Dick off."
They both go still. Like their brains just short-circuited. Like they can't quite believe what the fuck just came out of your mouth.
And you can see it happening, the exact moment something inside them snaps, because they've both fantasized about this, both thought about it more times than they'd ever admit, and now? Now you're on your knees, looking up at them, demanding it.
Dick swallows hard, his cock twitching, leaking against his stomach. His hands clench at his sides like he's trying so fucking hard to keep control. Jason? Jason just lets out a rough, breathless laugh, shaking his head, because fuck, you're gonna kill him.
Your ass wiggles as you shift into position, and behind you, Jason groans, deep and rough. "Fuck, look at you."
His big hands settle on your hips, hot and firm, fingers flexing like he's trying so hard to keep himself in check. And he can't help it, so he slaps your ass, the sharp sting sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your cunt.
"Oh—"
You gasp, thighs twitching, and Jason smirks, rubbing the mark he left behind, soothing the heat with his palm. "You like that shit, huh?"
You nod, looking over your shoulder at him with wide, glassy eyes, and his grip tightens.
"Got it, baby."
Then you turn back to Dick, gaze dropping to his cock. And God, he's just as long as Jason, maybe a little thinner, but just as pretty, thick and flushed, the veins along his shaft standing out against the hot, velvety skin. Precum beads at the tip, glistening, and when you lick your lips, Dick shudders, his breath hitching in his throat.
Behind you, Jason's hands slide lower, thumbs dragging over the curve of your ass before he spreads you open, groaning when he gets a good look at you.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters under his breath, almost dazed, like he can't believe what he's seeing.
You're so wet, swollen, your slick dripping down your thighs, smearing against the inside of his fingers. And your pussy? Fuck, it's the prettiest fucking thing he's ever seen—hot, flushed, clenching around nothing, like you're begging for something to fill you up.
His head tips back for a second, like he needs to pull himself together, but when he looks down again, when he sees your cunt flutter around nothing, aching to be fucked?
He's fucking gone.
Because he knows you're gonna squeeze his dick like a glove, knows you're gonna be so fucking tight, so hot and wet around him that he might actually lose his mind. You're perfect. And this? This can't be real.
But oh, it is.
You shift your weight onto your knees, looking up at Dick, and he looks like he's about to lose his fucking mind too. Especially when you wrap your fingers around his cock. He sucks in a breath, head falling back against the bench as your grip tightens, your palm gliding over his length, slow and teasing.
Then you lean in, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of his thigh, and Dick whimpers. The sound makes your cunt throb, pleasure sparking up your spine, because he looks so good like this—so flushed, so desperate, so pretty.
His cock pulses in your hand, leaking all over your fingers, and you purr, "Poor Grayson," before pressing a soft kiss to the tip, tongue flicking out to lap up his precum, tasting the salt and heat of him.
Behind you, Jason curses under his breath, and then you feel the hot, thick weight of his cock press against your dripping cunt.
You gasp, back arching as he rubs the wet head of his dick over your slit, dragging it up and down, teasing your swollen, puffy folds, mixing his precum with your slick until you're soaked in it.
And you? You're trembling. Because you need this. You need them. The second your lips part, taking Dick's cock into your mouth, his hand tangles in your hair. His fingers thread through the strands, tugging just enough to make your scalp tingle, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his other hand cradling your cheek.
You moan around him, the sound vibrating through your throat, and he hisses, his head tipping back against the bench. "Fuck—"
You take him deeper, inch by inch, your jaw stretching to accommodate his length. He's thick, hot, the weight of him pressing against your tongue as you hollow your cheeks and suck. His thighs tense under your palms, muscles jumping when you bob your head slow, teasing, testing how much of him you can take.
His fingers tighten in your hair, his hips twitching—just barely—but you feel it, the way he wants to thrust, to fuck himself down your throat, but he waits, panting, letting you set the pace.
Behind you, Jason is shaking. Shaking.
His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, his whole body tight, because fuck, your ass is wiggling, pushing back against him, grinding against his cock like you're trying to drive him insane.
And it's working. His dick throbs, thick and aching, leaking against your soaked, swollen cunt as you shift again, tilting your hips just right, and Jason snaps. He lines himself up and starts to push in, slow, deliberate, even though his whole body is telling him to fuck you, to take you, to split you open and wreck you.
But he waits. He has to wait. Because he knows he's big, and with how tight you are—so hot and wet, squeezing around just the tip—he can't move, not even if he wanted to.
His whole body trembles as he leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, grounding himself as much as he's grounding you. His big hands smooth up and down your sides, soothing, steadying, feeling the way your breath shudders as you try to relax, try to take him deeper.
But he waits, even though every muscle in his body is coiled tight, his jaw clenched so hard it aches, because even through the pollen haze, Jason cares. He needs you to feel good.
Your walls stretch around him, clutching at him, and he slides in so easily, your pussy welcoming him, pulling him in. He sinks in slow, inch by inch, splitting you open until he's fully sheathed inside you, buried to the hilt, and you can't help but moan. The vibration makes Dick's hips jerk, a curse tumbling from his lips as his fingers tighten in your hair.
And Jason?Jason groans, burying himself inside you, his forehead dropping against the back of your shoulder.
"Breathe, baby," he mutters against your skin, his lips trailing slow, soft kisses along your shoulder, his body trembling as he forces himself to stay still, to let you adjust, even though he wants to move so fucking bad.
He gives you time, even though his entire body is screaming at him to fuck you, to finally lose himself in the heat of your cunt.
"You're doin' so good," he rasps, voice strained, like the feel of your pussy wrapped around his cock is driving him straight to the fucking edge.
You slide off Dick's cock with a gasp, a line of spit still connecting your lips to his flushed tip. Your fingers tighten around the base, stroking him as your head dips forward, and Jason groans behind you, eyes clenching shut, breathing through it, fighting against the way your pussy is milking his cock.
You can't breathe. You can't think. The feeling is overwhelming, his cock pulsing deep inside you, stretching you so wide you feel full. Too full, almost, but Jason soothes you through it, his lips trailing soft, slow kisses along your skin.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters under his breath, his jaw clenched, his whole body so tight he thinks he might snap in half.
And then, finally, you shift against him. A tiny moan leaves your lips, and Jason can't wait any longer. Slowly, he pulls out, his cock dragging against your sensitive, fluttering walls, making your whole body tremble. Then he pushes back in, just as slow, filling you up again, stretching you, claiming every inch of your cunt.
It burns. It aches—just a little. Your whimper is soft, almost inaudible, but Jason hears it.
And he shushes you, kissing your shoulder again, whispering, "You're doin' so fuckin' good for me."
Jason's grip tightens on your waist, fingers digging into your soft skin as he starts to move, slow and deliberate, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, filling you up again, making you moan.
It's too slow, too teasing. You need more.
So you refocus, letting yourself drown in the heat of Dick's body, the way his cock twitches in your grip, thick and flushed and leaking all over your fingers. You slide your tongue over the tip, swirling around the slit, savoring the salty taste of his precum before taking him back into your mouth, sinking deeper this time.
The stretch is obscene, your lips stretched wide around him, your jaw aching as you push further, inch by inch, your throat tightening as he hits the back of your mouth. You gag, drool spilling from the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin, but you don't care.
You love it. It's better than every fantasy you've ever had, better than every late night thought of them, better than you could've ever imagined. Because they feel so good, sound so good, and you know you're not coming back from this.
Dick is gone. His fingers tangle in your hair again, watching the way you take him, the way you look up at him with glassy, desperate eyes, and fuck, you're so pretty like this, drooling all over his cock, taking him so fucking deep.
His whole body tenses, muscles tight, abs flexing, the veins in his forearms standing out as he tries to control himself, to hold back, but Jesus Christ, you're making it so fucking hard.
Jason is just as wrecked. His pace is still slow, but he's obsessed, his mind fuzzy with how good you feel, how tight you are, how fucking perfect your pussy is wrapped around his cock, gripping him like a vice.
He has to see it.
So he moves his hands from your waist, big palms spreading over the curve of your ass, gripping the flesh before pulling your cheeks apart, groaning when he gets a clear view of your soaked cunt stretched so tight around his dick.
His cock twitches, a groan slipping from his lips because fuck, you're swallowing him whole, your pussy gripping every inch of him, making a mess all over his cock, slick glistening along his length.
This is the best pussy he's ever had. But he knows it's you. It has nothing to do with that pollen. It's you.
And he's so fucking gone over you.
You whimper around Dick's cock, your eyes flicking up to meet his, watching the way his chest rises and falls in quick, desperate pants. And then, slowly, you let him slip from your mouth again, gasping for air, your hand tightening around the base as you pant.
"Fuck my mouth."
Dick freezes, his breath hitching, his lips parting as his brows furrow, like he's not sure he heard you right.
"W-what?"
You lick your lips, eyes heavy-lidded, spit glistening along your chin as you repeat, slow and clear. "Fuck. My. Mouth."
His whole body shudders, and he doesn't even think. Doesn't hesitate. He does it.
His grip tightens in your hair as he tilts your head back, and then he's pushing in, slow but firm, guiding his cock past your lips, groaning as the heat of your mouth wraps around him.
And behind you, Jason hisses, his fingers tightening on your ass before landing another sharp slap, making you jolt forward.
"Shit," he groans, his voice thick with arousal, dark with want. "You're freaky as fuck."
Dick's grip tightens in your hair as he starts to move, slow at first, thrusting shallowly, watching the way his cock glides over your slick tongue, the way your lips stretch around him, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.
"God, baby," he groans, voice strained, wrecked, his abs flexing as he pushes deeper, testing your limits, his hips jerking when you moan around him. "You feel so good—fuck, you're perfect. So sweet for me, taking me so well."
His words make your pussy clench around Jason's cock, the praise making your head spin, making you drool more as you relax your throat, letting Dick push deeper, the head of his cock nudging the back of your mouth. Your eyes flutter, heat sparking in your core as he fucks your mouth in slow, deliberate strokes.
His breath is ragged, his voice thick as he murmurs, "Just like that, pretty girl. You're doing so good. Such a perfect little thing."
Behind you, Jason groans, his grip bruising as he watches you take it, eyes dark, hungry.
"Fuck," he rasps, his voice rough, thick with need. "Look at you. So fuckin' nasty, baby. Goddamn, you're gonna make me lose my shit."
His hands slide over your ass, squeezing, spreading you open so he can watch the way your pussy stretches around his cock, gripping him like a fucking vice, sucking him in, milking him.
"You're so tight," he groans, his cock twitching inside you, his jaw clenching. "So fuckin' wet. Jesus Christ, this is the best pussy I've ever had."
The words make your walls flutter, make your body throb, and you can't help yourself. You push back against him, grinding your ass into his hips, moaning around Dick's cock as Jason curses, his fingers tightening on your ass.
And then he snaps. His patience shatters, his control slipping as he slams into you, knocking the breath from your lungs, making your eyes roll back.
"Fuck, yeah," Jason growls, dragging you back onto his cock, setting a relentless rhythm, fucking you deeper, harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the steam-filled air. "That's what you wanted, huh? Wanted me to fuck you like this? Shit, you're so fuckin' needy, baby."
Your moans vibrate around Dick's cock, making him groan, his hips stuttering.
"Jesus Christ," he gasps, his fingers tugging on your hair, his head tipping back as he watches you, his cock throbbing as you swallow around him. "You're so fucking good, baby."
Jason groans, his cock dragging against your walls, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure skittering down your spine.
"Look at you," he rasps, voice low, dark, wrecked. "Gettin' your mouth fucked, gettin' your pussy fucked—shit, baby, you're drippin' all over my dick."
His words send a sharp throb through your core, making your walls squeeze around him, making him curse.
"Yeah, you like that? You like bein' a messy little thing?"
His words mix with Dick's soft, sweet praise, the contrast making your head spin, making your body ache for more, more, more. You're soaked, you're gone, and you're about to cum so hard.
Dick's fingers clench tighter in your hair, his whole body shaking as you take him deeper, swallowing him down until your nose brushes against the soft patch of hair at the base of his cock. His moans grow louder, ragged, his hips jerking forward, his self-control slipping between his fingers.
"Fuck, baby," he groans, his voice wrecked, shaking. "You're—shit, you're gonna make me—"
You hum around him, hollowing your cheeks, sucking him harder, and that's it. That's all it takes for him to lose it.
His cock twitches on your tongue, the thick veins pulsing against the heat of your mouth as his orgasm slams into him, ripping through him like a live wire.
"Oh, fuck—"
His breath catches, his whole body locking up as the first hot pulse of his cum spills onto your tongue, thick and heavy, coating your throat as he shudders, trembles, his head tipping back against the wall, his lips parting in a wrecked, shaking moan.
You swallow it all, every last drop, your throat working around him, and it's too much. His thighs tense, his abs flex, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his hips jerk, his cock throbbing, overstimulated, as you keep sucking, drawing out every last spurt of his release.
"Jesus Christ, baby," he whimpers, his grip tightening for a second before his hand slips from your hair, his body melting, shaking, spent.
You finally let him slide free with a soft, wet pop, licking the last traces of him from your lips, and when he finally cracks his eyes open, looking down at you with flushed cheeks and a dazed, blissed out expression, he groans.
"God," he breathes, still catching his breath, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip, cleaning up the mess he left behind. "You're so fucking good."
You only have a second to grin before Jason grabs you. His arm wraps around your waist, yanking you up, pulling you against his chest as he slams his cock back into your pussy, the force of it making you gasp, your body arching as he fills you up again, stretching you all over.
"Fuckin' shit," Jason growls, his voice low, desperate, his breath hot against your ear as he pounds into you, his cock hitting deep, slamming into that spot inside you that makes your whole body tremble.
His free hand slides down, finding your clit, rubbing in quick, tight circles, his fingers slippery with your arousal.
"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he grits out, his voice dark, wrecked. "Gonna soak my fuckin' dick?"
You whimper, nodding desperately, your nails digging into his arms, your whole body coiling tight, every thrust, every press of his fingers sending you closer to the edge.
Your head tilts back, your lips parting, and Jason takes it as an invitation. His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss filthy, messy, his tongue sliding against yours as he fucks you harder, deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the steam thick air.
It's too much. The way he's pounding into you, the way his fingers are rubbing your clit, the way his mouth is devouring yours—it's all too much.
You shatter. Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, your body locking up as your walls clamp down around Jason's cock, your pussy spasming, milking him as you moan into his mouth, your whole body shaking from the force of it.
But he doesn't stop.
"Yeah," Jason groans, his pace relentless, his fingers still working your clit, pushing you higher, keeping you right there, shoving you into another orgasm before you can even catch your breath.
"Oh—fuck—"
Your whole body seizes, and then you gush, hot, wet, soaking his cock, the mess dripping down your thighs, pooling on the towels beneath you as your mind goes blank. Jason groans, his grip bruising, his voice full of awe and lust and pure fucking greed.
"Shit, baby," he growls, his hand sliding up your stomach to cup your tits, squeezing, his hips still slamming into you. "You're so fuckin' hot—goddamn, look at this mess you're makin'."
You're gone, trembling in his arms, panting, whimpering, still coming, your body wrecked, and he loves it.
But even after you've soaked his dick, even after you've cum so hard your legs shake and your body trembles, he just keeps going, fucking you through it, chasing his own high, refusing to let you catch your breath.
Your thoughts are a mess, a haze of heat and pleasure and pure, desperate need. Every time he thrusts back inside, it knocks the air from your lungs, sending another sharp jolt of electricity up your spine, making your toes curl.
His dick is so big, so hot, so thick, stretching you to your limit, the swollen head hitting your cervix with every deep, brutal stroke, the impact sending sparks of pain-laced pleasure licking up your spine.
Jason groans, his breath hot against your ear, his big hands sliding from your waist to your tits, squeezing, kneading, rolling your sensitive nipples between his fingers.
"Fuck, baby," he moans, voice wrecked, breathless. "You feel so good—tight little pussy's so fuckin' wet, takin' my dick like a fuckin' dream."
His voice is a growl, his breath ragged, filthy, and it makes you clench around him, your body reacting to the sheer, raw hunger in his voice.
"Drippin' down my fuckin' balls, makin' a mess all over me," he mutters, his pace getting faster, his hips snapping against your ass, the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin filling the air. "Such a fuckin' good girl, lettin' me fuck you like this—shit—"
His moan is deep, gritty, his lips brushing against your neck, and it makes your brain melt.
You can feel Dick watching.
His heavy, ragged breathing, the way he groans softly under his breath every time your tits bounce from the sheer force of Jason's thrusts, the way he's still hard, his cock resting heavy against his abdomen as he watches Jason destroy you.
Jason buries his face in your shoulder, his pace stuttering, and then his voice turns urgent, desperate. "Shit," he pants. "Where do you want me to cum, doll?"
The words slip out before you even think.
"Inside," you whimper, the plea ragged, breathless. "Inside me, please."
Jason groans, his arms tightening around you, his body shaking. "Fuck."
He grabs your waist, slamming into you, fucking you like a man possessed, like he's starving for you, like he needs to be as deep as possible, stretching you wide, filling you to the fucking brim.
And it's like something in Dick snaps. He drops to his knees, his big hands sliding up your thighs, and then his fingers find your clit.
"Oh—fuck—"
Your whole body seizes—Jason's cock splitting you open, fucking you deep and hard, pounding into your soaking cunt while Dick's fingers rub your puffy, far-too-sensitive clit, quick and precise, pushing you higher, driving you insane.
Then Dick leans in, his lips brushing against yours, swallowing your moans, devouring them, and God, this has to be the hottest fuck of your life.
His tongue, hot, wet, messy against yours, kissing you like he needs you, like he's starving for the taste of your pleasure.
And shit, these two men—hot as fuck, sweaty, desperate, ruining you. They are going to wreck you for anyone else for sure.
Jason groans, his pace brutal, his cock pounding into your swollen, soaked pussy, stretching you so wide, splitting you open, filling you so deep you can feel him in your stomach.
He's right there, right on the edge, voice rough, breath ragged as he mutters, "C'mon, baby, I'm so close. Fuck, gimme one more, let me feel you."
And then, Dick starts slapping your clit slightly. It's sharp, the sting mixing with the unbearable pleasure of Jason's cock fucking you stupid, and that's it, you snap.
Your whole body locks up, your pussy clenching down hard around Jason's cock, milking him, your legs trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, drowning you in wave after wave of pure, burning pleasure.
Your mouth falls open in a wrecked, wordless moan, eyes rolling back, sweat dripping down your skin as you shake, your whole body on fire, pleasure exploding behind your eyelids, your clit throbbing, your walls spasming around Jason's thick cock.
And he loses it.
"Fuck—" His breath punches out of him, a deep, desperate groan rumbling through his chest, his grip on your hips turning bruising as your pussy chokes his cock, squeezing him so tight he can't hold back.
He buries himself to the hilt, grinding deep, grinding so fucking deep, and then, he cums. Thick, hot spurts of cum flood your pussy, painting your walls, filling you up so much you can feel it, dripping out around his cock, mixing with your slick as he lets out a deep, wrecked groan.
But he doesn't stop.
Even as his dick throbs, even as he pulses inside you, he grits his teeth and fucks it deeper, slow, deep rolls of his hips, making sure every last drop stays buried inside you, making sure you feel it.
Dick's fingers never stop, still rubbing your aching clit, making you whimper, making your whole body jolt, your thighs quivering, your nipples aching, your pussy so full and sensitive that every little movement makes you twitch.
And then Dick finally lets you breathe.
He breaks the kiss, his lips swollen, his breathing uneven, his eyes dark with lust as he soothes you, his hands smoothing up your back, down your arms, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your temple, whispering soft praises against your skin.
Your breath shudders out of you, your head dropping forward onto Dick's shoulder as Jason stills behind you, his chest rising and falling, sweat slicking his skin, his grip still tight on your waist, grounding you as you tremble in their hold.
Jason does the same, his big hands rubbing slow, warm circles into your waist, his lips brushing against your shoulder, his breath deep, calming, as he lets you come down.
But it's not enough. You still need more.
Your whole body buzzes with it, aching with it, and before you can stop yourself, before you can even think, the words tumble from your lips, breathless, desperate, "I need... I—w-want you both at the same time."
Jason freezes. "Fuckin' shit."
His arm tightens around your waist, his cock still buried inside you, twitching just at the thought of it.
And Dick? His breath catches, his fingers tightening against your skin, his lips parting as his brows furrow, something unreadable flickering across his face before he cups your cheek, pressing soft, sweet kisses all over your flushed skin.
"Love, maybe we should—"
"No," you shake your head, chest heaving. "I need it. I—fuck, I need more."
Dick hesitates. "But we'd need lube, and—"
"I have some," you gasp. "In—in my locker. In my bag."
They both freeze. Jason raises a brow, his lips twitching, while Dick blinks at you, head tilting slightly.
"...You what?"
Your face burns. "I just bought it—I was gonna take it home, but I kept forgetting—"
Jason smirks, shaking his head, while Dick huffs out a quiet laugh before turning on his heel.
"I'll get it."
Your thoughts swirl, still dazed, still high from pleasure. It's really just a coincidence, something you bought last week and forgot to leave at home, but now? Now, you're just grateful you have it.
The second Dick is gone, Jason leans in, his lips brushing against yours, slow, deep, his tongue dragging along your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth. You moan softly, body pressing into his, heat still pooling low in your stomach.
When he pulls away, his smirk is sharp, eyes dark.
"You just bought it, huh?"
Your eyes dart away, face burning, and he chuckles. Then Dick is back, the bottle of lube in hand, and he's grinning, but there's something in his eyes, something darker, something hungrier.
He tosses the bottle onto the bench, his gaze flickering between you and Jason before he murmurs, "That's real convenient, sweetheart."
Jason's lips brush against your neck, hot and damp with sweat, his breath still ragged as he drags his mouth along your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the flushed heat of your throat. His hands slide down your waist, holding you, still keeping you close, as if he doesn't want to pull away just yet.
But then he does. His cock slips free, and the loss makes you whine, your walls clenching around nothing, feeling so empty after being stretched and filled so deep.
Jason chuckles, low and rough, pressing another slow kiss to your shoulder before he straightens, his hands steady on your waist as he helps you up, keeping you from collapsing completely. And then, his cum starts dripping out of you.
Thick, warm, messy, streaking down your thighs, slick and obscene, mixing with your own wetness, making your skin glisten under the dim lights.
Jason groans, watching it, his fingers squeezing at your hips before he turns you around, cupping your face with both hands, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him.
He kisses you, deep, messy, wet.
His tongue pushes past your lips immediately, curling against yours, dragging along the roof of your mouth, swallowing the small gasp you let out as he dominates the kiss.
It's all spit and heat, his grip firm, his fingers digging into your jaw as he devours you, groaning into your mouth, his own hips twitching forward instinctively, as if he's not done with you yet.
And maybe he's not. When he finally pulls away, your lips are slick with spit, swollen and tingling, your breath coming in short, shaky gasps.
The praise sends a shiver down your spine, heat coiling in your belly, but you don't even have time to dwell on it because you're already turning to Dick, your whole body still thrumming with need.
But Jason just smirks, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip as he murmurs, "Took me so fuckin' well."
"Lay on the bench."
His brows lift, lips parting slightly, but he doesn't question it. He grabs some towels first, spreading them out so he can sit more comfortably, before laying back, his cock still hard, standing thick and flushed against his stomach, twitching slightly as he watches you, pupils blown.
You barely give him time to think. You climb on top of him, straddling his hips, and the moment your soaked pussy presses against his cock, dragging along his length, he groans, his head falling back slightly.
"Fuck," he breathes, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding up to cup your ass. "That pollen fucked us up badly."
You nod, whimpering, rubbing yourself against him, smearing Jason's cum and your own slick all over his cock, making it all slippery, all hot, and then, Dick grinds right back.
His hands tighten on your ass, his hips rolling up against yours, rubbing the thick, leaking head of his cock against your throbbing clit, making you moan, making your thighs tremble from the overstimulation.
Dick gasps, his fingers flexing against your ass, his chest rising sharply as his brows furrow, his mouth falling open in a soft, breathless moan. His thoughts are a mess.
But you need him inside. Now. Lifting yourself up, you barely hesitate before sinking down onto his cock, and it's so easy. You're soaked, dripping, stretched wide and ready from Jason, and Dick slides right in, filling you up in one smooth, wet motion, the thick length of him pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.
He's inside you. He's inside you, and you feel so fucking good. So tight, so warm, so fucking wet, and it's all for him.
Well, for him and Jason, all of you caught up in this fever, this unbearable need, and fuck, he never thought this would happen, never thought he'd get to feel you like this, but now... now he can't stop thinking about it.
Can't stop thinking about how you feel around him, how you're squeezing him, how your slick drips down his length, coating his cock, making it so easy to slide deeper, making it so fucking hot.
"Jesus," he groans, his head tipping back, his fingers gripping at you. "Baby, you feel... fuck, you feel so good."
Dick can't stop kissing you. It's like he's obsessed, like he needs his mouth on you just as much as he needs to fuck you.
Every time his hips drive up, his cock sinking deep inside your dripping cunt, he's pulling you down to meet him, his lips crashing against yours, groaning into your mouth like he's drunk on the heat of you, the taste of you, the way your walls grip him so tight every time he moves.
"God, baby," he pants against your lips, voice breathless, wrecked, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts up into you again, harder this time, his cock rubbing against every tender, sensitive spot inside you. "I can't stop, I can't—"
You moan, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, clinging to him, feeling every shift of his muscles, every snap of his hips as he fucks into you with slow, deep, needy strokes.
And across from you, Jason watches. His lips are slightly parted, his chest rising with each heavy breath, his eyes locked on the way Dick's cock sinks in and out of your soaked, used pussy, slick noises filling the sauna, making his jaw clench.
"Fuck," he mutters, his grip tightening around his cock, stroking himself slowly.
His breath catches as he watches the way your body takes it, how easy it is for Dick to slide into you after he already ruined you, stretching you out, leaving you so wet that it's effortless.
His free hand slides up your back, fingers tracing along the sweat-slick curve of your spine, following it down to your ass, where he grips the flesh and spreads you slightly. The moment he does, he groans at the sight of Dick's cock fucking into your pussy, your hole clinging to him, soaked and messy, your juices dripping down to your thighs, making the whole thing so fucking filthy.
You hear the slick pop of a bottle being opened, and then, his fingers, cool and slick with lube, gliding over the rim of your other hole. A soft, teasing touch.
Your breath hitches, a shiver running through you even as you grind down onto Dick's cock, making him groan, his hands flexing against your hips. Jason smirks, rubbing slow circles around your rim, massaging the tight muscle, teasing it, not pushing in just yet.
"Gotta stretch you open first, doll," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the dip of your spine. "Don't wanna hurt you."
You nod, panting, pressing back into his hand as he finally, slowly, pushes in the tip of his finger. Your body twitches at the stretch, a sharp inhale escaping you as your walls flutter around Dick's cock at the same time, making him groan, his brows furrowing as he tries to keep himself from losing it.
Jason waits a moment, watching the way you react, his other hand rubbing slow circles along your waist, his voice softer this time when he asks, "You okay, baby?"
You exhale shakily, nodding, your body adjusting to the new sensation, the slight pressure of his finger stretching you open.
And then he starts to move.
Slowly, teasingly, fucking you with the single finger, slipping it in and out in careful strokes, feeling the way your body responds, the way your walls tremble around him, your moans growing softer, more desperate as he adds another finger.
A low, drawn out out moan escapes you, your body twitching, your walls fluttering around Dick's cock again, making him groan, his fingers gripping your hips harder.
"You're so fuckin' tight," Jason mutters, his forehead pressing to your shoulder as he works his fingers in deeper, stretching you open, his cock twitching at the way you pulse around him.
His movements stay patient, calculated, letting you get used to every single sensation, letting you feel it, your body reacting to both him and Dick at the same time, your nerves lighting up from how much stimulation there is, how they're everywhere all at once.
By the time he slides in a third finger, you're trembling, panting, your nails digging into Dick's shoulders as he groans at the way you keep clenching around him.
"You're doin' so good, baby," Jason murmurs against your back, pressing a slow kiss between your shoulder blades, fingers curling inside you, stretching you wider.
Dick keeps kissing you. He can't stop.
His lips keep finding yours between every breathless moan, every shaky exhale, every soft noise that leaves your lips as Jason's fingers work you open, stretching you wider, preparing you for his dick.
You can barely think. Your body is trembling, nerves buzzing, your mind foggy with want, with need, your hands gripping Dick's shoulders as he pants against your lips, "You feel so good, sweetheart, I—fuck, I need to feel you."
Jason growls against your skin, his fingers sinking deeper, pushing past the tight ring of muscle until he's knuckle-deep, fucking them in and out in slow, filthy thrusts. He watches you shudder, listens to the way you gasp, the way your thighs tremble when he curls his fingers just right.
"Relax," he murmurs, dragging his teeth over your neck, his free hand gripping your hip to keep you still. "You're already takin' me so fuckin' well, baby—bet you'll stretch around my dick like a dream."
He spreads his fingers, stretching you wider, dragging them back just to push in again, deeper, rougher, wetter. The slick, obscene sounds of it make heat curl in your belly, make your whole body tighten, aching, desperate.
"Fuck, you feel this?" Jason grunts, his fingers twisting, pressing, stroking in slow, teasing circles. "So tight, so fuckin' perfect—gonna ruin you, baby."
Dick presses another kiss to your lips, then another, then another, each one deeper, more desperate, more needy, because he has to. He has to taste you, has to feel you, has to lose himself in you while Jason kneels behind you, his cock hard and aching, the tip glistening as he slowly, carefully pulls his fingers out of your ass.
A low groan rumbles in his chest at the sight, his hands gripping your ass, spreading you slightly, watching the way your body twitches, the way your ass clenches, still slightly open from how deep his fingers had been.
"Relax, doll," he murmurs, his breath warm against your spine as he slicks himself up with lube, rubbing the tip of his cock against your hole, teasing, pressing just slightly to gauge your reaction.
Your whole body shudders, and Dick cradles your face, kisses you slow, deep, as he whispers against your lips, "Breathe, pretty girl. I got you."
Jason presses in. Slowly. The stretch is immediate, intense, your body clenching around him as he sinks in, inch by inch, his jaw tight as he groans, hands gripping your hips, feeling the way you shake as you adjust to the sheer size of him, to the way he's filling you.
Dick can feel it too. Your walls clenching around his cock, getting tighter just from how Jason is stretching you open, making him groan, his hands flexing against your waist.
"Fuck, baby," Jason grits out, his breath coming out shaky as he finally bottoms out, his forehead pressing against your back, his chest rising and falling in deep, heavy breaths. "You feel so fuckin' good."
You're a mess. Your breath is shaky, your pulse racing, your body overwhelmed in the best way possible, stuffed full, stretched wide, both of them inside you, filling you to the absolute brim.
Still, it's not enough. You need more. And the moment you shift, rolling your hips slightly, feeling the way it makes Jason's cock nudge deeper, Dick lets out a sharp, wrecked sound and tightens his grip on your hips.
"Hold still, love," he breathes, his voice low, strained, adjusting his grip on you, making sure you don't have to move, don't have to do anything except take it.
And you will. You'll take all of it. Because they need this just as much as you do, and neither of them can hold back much longer.
Jason exhales hard through his nose, his grip steady on your hips, his cock pulsing, buried deep inside your ass as he presses his chest flush against your back.
His lips graze your shoulder, his breath warm, voice low and gruff when he murmurs, "Good? Still with us?"
You nod quickly, too quickly, your brain foggy, words barely forming as you pant, "M-Move, please..."
Dick is the first to obey. His fingers flex at your waist, his muscles tensing beneath you as he rolls his hips up, fucking into your soaked cunt slow and deep, dragging a moan from your throat as the thick length of him stretches you open all over again.
Jason groans at the sight, at the way your tight little hole clenches around Dick's cock, the way your body shudders when Dick fills you to the hilt, rubbing against the spots that make you gasp, make you shake.
And then, Jason moves. It's slow, deliberate, his hips grinding forward, easing himself out just to push back in, filling your ass just as Dick fills your pussy, the slow stretch making your breath catch, making your fingers curl against Dick's chest.
Your mind is blank. Absolutely fucking blank. You can barely register the words Dick is whispering, his voice soft, warm, each praise making you clench down tighter, "God, sweetheart, you feel so good—so tight, so perfect—taking both of us so well, baby, so fucking good—"
His words make your breath stutter, make your walls squeeze around him, make Jason groan, his hands gripping your hips, thumbs stroking your skin as he kisses your back, your shoulders, your neck, his lips soft, reverent, even as he fucks you.
And you can barely breathe. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your body trembling as they thrust into you, stretching you, filling you, overwhelming you with the sheer amount of pleasure you're drowning in.
Jason's hand slides around you. Finds your puffy little clit. Presses down. You wail.
Your whole body jerks, your breath shattering as Jason grins against your skin, his fingers circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, slow and cruel, all while his cock grinds deep into your ass, making your walls clench around both of them.
Dick chokes on a moan, his hips jerking, his fingers digging into your waist, his cock stuffing your pussy, pushing deeper, hitting that spot that makes you keen.
Jason groans at the reaction, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, muttering, "Fuck, baby, that's it—take it—"
And you do. You take everything. The stretch, the pressure, the fullness, the filthy praise whispered into your ear, the heat of their bodies against yours. The way their cocks move inside you, making your vision swim, making your mind blank, making your whole body tremble as they keep fucking you.
And there's nothing—nothing—you want more.
Jason's fingers keep working your clit, slow and teasing one moment, rough and insistent the next, rubbing tight little circles that have your thighs trembling, your body caught between the steady drag of his cock in your ass and the deep, devastating thrusts of Dick's cock inside your pussy.
Your breath shatters, your body taut, stretched wide, so full, their cocks filling you over and over, slick and hot, the filthy sound of it echoing off the walls, slick wet noises mixing with your gasping moans, their groans, their praises.
Dick slides a hand up your waist, warm and firm, fingers trailing the sweat-slicked curves of your body, before moving higher, higher, until he cups your breast.
A strangled moan gets caught in your throat as he palms you, rolling your nipple between his fingers, his grip firm, possessive, desperate, his hips never slowing, cock driving deep, kissing your cervix with every thrust.
Jason groans behind you, his cock throbbing, pulsing inside your tight, hot ass, his grip almost bruising at your hip as he watches Dick squeeze your tits, watches how you whimper and twitch, body so fucking responsive.
"Fuckin' hell," Jason rasps, pressing his forehead against your back, panting, "You're so tight, baby—grippin' me so good—"
Dick is all needy and breathless as he mutters, "You're so perfect—so wet, so fucking soft—"
And fuck, fuck, it's too much.
Your whole body tenses, muscles coiling, pleasure spiking, your slick dripping down, coating Dick's cock, soaking his thighs, Jason's fingers still rubbing your clit, still teasing, still playing with you.
Your vision blurs, your mouth falls open in a silent moan, and then you snap. Your orgasm rips through you like a fucking supernova, a shuddering, gut-wrenching explosion of white-hot pleasure. Wave after wave crashes into you as your pussy clenches, gripping Dick's cock so tight he chokes on a groan, hips faltering, hands gripping your waist to hold you there, fuck you through it, hips rutting up in messy, desperate thrusts.
Jason curses loud and filthy, his free hand digging into your hip as your ass tightens around him, milking his cock, making him throb, his jaw clenched so tight it aches as he rubs your clit faster, dragging out your orgasm, making you whimper, tremble, shake.
"That's it, doll," Jason growls, voice rough, filled with lust, "Fuck—look at you, so fuckin' messy, so good—"
Dick is moaning beneath you, his grip on you tightening, his cock still buried deep inside your spasming cunt, still rutting up into you, and it's so much, too much, your whole body a trembling, sweaty, soaked mess.
"M-more—"
Your voice is a broken little whimper, barely a sound at all, your body hot between them, overstimulated and fucked senseless, but still, still, you beg for more.
"H-harder—fuck—p-please—"
And that's it. That's it. Jason curses under his breath, and Dick's fingers tighten on your hips as something inside them just snaps, and they ruin you.
Jason grips your waist, holding you steady as he slams into your ass, hips snapping forward with messy, needy thrusts, cock stretching you wide, stuffing you so full, his abs flexing, sweat dripping down his chest.
Dick isn't any better. He's never fucked like this before, never felt like this before, usually so careful, so sweet, because he likes making love, likes taking his time. He's usually all slow, sensual touches and soft whispers, but the pollen, the fucking pollen.
You're soaking his cock, clenching around him, your pussy hot and wet and so fucking tight, making these little whimpering sounds that make his brain short-circuit, that make him lose every single ounce of restraint.
He pounds into you, moaning, hips driving up to meet yours again and again, his mind blank, wrecked, obsessed with how you feel around him, how good you take it, how you keep begging for it.
"Yes—yes—yes—more—fuck—"
You can't stop babbling, pleading, brain melting under the push and pull of their cocks inside you, their hands gripping you, keeping you in place, using you, fucking you.
"More—more—more—"
You're whimpering, gasping, trembling, bouncing between him and Jason like you belong to them.
"F-fuck—"
Jason feels like he's burning alive, the heat of your body, the way your ass grips his cock, the way you tremble every time he fucks you deeper, the sweat dripping down his back, his chest, his hips slapping your ass, his free hand sliding up your spine, grabbing the back of your neck, squeezing just a little, just enough to make you gasp.
"Shit, baby, you're so fuckin' tight—"
And then—
"Fuck—fuck— fuck—"
Dick breaks.
His whole body tenses, back arching, muscles coiling as his cock jerks inside you, and then he's cumming, gasping, groaning, fucking his seed deep into your cunt, pumping you full, stuffing you so full, hot and thick. His arms lock around your waist, holding you down as he ruts up into you, still moving, still fucking you through it because he can't stop, can't fucking stop.
And you—
You feel it, feel the hot rush of it inside you, feel it leak out around his cock, smearing on your swollen folds, on Jason's fingers still working your clit, on his balls, sticky and messy, so fucking filthy. You love it, love the way it drips out of you, love the way Dick whimpers as he fucks through his orgasm, love the way Jason grunts behind you, voice rough, guttural.
"Christ, look at that—fuckin' drippin'—"
And he's still fucking you, still grinding against you, his cock still hard, still deep, still pounding your ass, and you whimper, still shaking, still so fucking sensitive.
Jason's fingers are merciless.
They press against your swollen, throbbing clit, slick with a mess of cum, circling it, teasing, rubbing just right.
"F-fuck, Jay, I—"
Your words break, barely more than a whimper, and Dick shifts beneath you, his hands tight on your hips, his cock still stuffed deep in your wrecked pussy, and he feels it.
He feels the way your walls are fluttering, spasming, gripping him, the way your whole body is starting to shake.
"That's it, baby, let go—"
Jason's voice is low, gravelly, and then it hits you.
A wave of white-hot pleasure, so intense, so overwhelming, your whole body tenses and breaks at the same time, back arching, mouth falling open in a silent, shattered sob as you clench around both of them, your pussy squeezing Dick so tight he groans, hips jerking, and your ass—
"Shit—fuck—"
Jason chokes on his own breath, the sudden tight, spasming grip around his cock making his rhythm stutter, making his fingers falter, making his whole body tense as heat coils low in his gut, hot and throbbing, his hips snapping forward in shallow, desperate thrusts.
"Fuck— baby—"
His hand locks onto your waist, fingers digging into your soft, sweat-slicked skin, and he buries himself deep, cock throbbing, pulsing, spilling inside you, thick and hot. He can't stop moving, can't stop grinding into you, fucking it deeper, groaning, shuddering against your back as his orgasm wrecks him.
You sob.
Not just because it's too much, not just because your body is shaking, not just because your clit is pulsing under Jason's fingers, because your pussy is still leaking cum, because your ass is stuffed with it, because the pleasure is endless.
You sob because you've never been fucked this good, because it's Dick and Jason, because your body is spent. Because you're so tired and still trembling, still whimpering as Jason finally stills behind you, followed by Dick, both of them still inside you, both of them breathing hard.
"Baby—"
Dick’s voice is so soft, and you barely register it before your body gives out, before you collapse against his chest. His arms catch you, wrap around you, hold you tight, his big, warm hands rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back as you keep sobbing, sniffling, your body twitching from the aftershocks.
"Shit—"
Jason's hands smooth down your back, his lips pressing against the curve of your spine, kissing your sweat-damp skin as he exchanges a look with Dick, something unspoken, something concerned.
"Breathe, sweetheart," Dick murmurs, tucking you closer, his lips pressing to your temple, your forehead, "You're okay. We got you."
Jason hums against your back, his hands gentle now, tracing slow, grounding touches down your waist, your sides, rubbing at your hips, pressing softer kisses against your skin.
"M'sorry—" you hiccup, voice hoarse, and Jason shakes his head, arms tightening around you.
"Nah, baby," he murmurs, "Nothin' to be sorry for."
"We got you," Dick echoes, voice still so soft, lips still brushing against your skin, still pressing slow, tender kisses over your face, "We got you, love."
And the haze of the pollen is fading, just slightly, just enough to let the exhaustion creep in, just enough to let you sink into their warmth, just enough to let you breathe.
A little sniffle escapes you, barely more than a breath, and Jason exhales, his fingers tightening on your waist before he slowly, gently pulls out. You whimper, hips twitching at the loss, and he shushes you, hands smoothing down your sides, his voice low and gruff—
"Sorry, sweetheart."
It's only then, as his head starts to clear, that he sees you, like... really sees you.
The red marks scattered across your skin, the deep, dark hickeys, the little bruises blooming where fingers had gripped too tight, where mouths had been too hungry.
And normally, Jason wouldn't care. Wouldn't think about it, wouldn't dwell. But this wasn't some random fuck. This was you. And he cares about you.
He exchanges a look with Dick, who seems to be thinking the exact same thing, but before either of them can say anything, you lift your head slightly, voice soft, drowsy, still so blissed out.
"That was... that was so..." you pause as you take a slow, heavy breath. "That was the best fuck of my life."
For a second, they're stunned. Then Jason snorts, shaking his head as his hands squeeze your hips.
"You're somethin' else, pretty girl."
You hum, then shift, sitting up on Dick, your hands steadying yourself on his chest, his cock finally softening inside you.
Dick's hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear, his gaze soft, fond, full of something warm and aching.
"You okay?"
You nod, but he tilts his head, eyes scanning your face. "You sure?"
"So fucking sure," you murmur, leaning into his palm, letting his touch ground you, soothe you.
Jason exhales, then reaches over, fingers brushing your damp, sweat-sticky hair from your shoulder before he leans in, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your skin.
They let you breathe, let you come down completely, their hands slow and gentle, smoothing over your back, your arms, grounding you with soft touches, murmured reassurances, little praises that make your stomach flip.
And then, you shift again, lifting yourself from Dick's lap, and—
Oh.
The mess is... everywhere. Your thighs are slick, cum dripping from your swollen pussy, smearing on Dick's softening cock, streaking down onto the bench beneath you, pooling on the towels.
And now that the pollen haze has lifted, now that your mind is clearer, the sight of it, the reality of it, makes your face go hot, embarrassment creeping up your spine.
They see it. They know you. Jason clicks his tongue, turns you to face him, and pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping tight around you, caging you against him.
"Don't do that shit," he murmurs, voice warm, rough, "It's fine. We'll clean up."
You bury your face in his chest, mumbling something unintelligible, and he huffs, hand smoothing down your back.
"Kinda late for that, doll."
You groan, lifting a weak arm to swat at his shoulder. "Shut up."
Dick chuckles, shaking his head as he stretches, standing from the bench, his legs shaky, his hands settling on his hips as he exhales.
"You two go ahead and clean up," he says, rolling his shoulders, "I'll handle things here."
And before you can argue, before you can say I can help or I should clean up too, he steps up behind you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder.
"Okay?"
You nod, still tucked against Jason's chest, and Dick hums, brushing his fingers down your arm before stepping away.
But before you can step away, Jason's arms tighten.
"Wait—"
Your words die in your throat as Jason lifts you, carrying you towards the showers like you weigh nothing, and normally, you'd protest.
Would roll your eyes, would shove at his shoulder, would grumble about carrying yourself. But right now, you're too fucked out to care. So you just sigh, letting your body go boneless against him, arms loosely wrapping around his shoulders as he carries you away.
Jason sets you down and turns on the water, the warm steam curling around you, soaking into your aching muscles. And the second your feet touch the tile, your knees buckle. But he's there, his hands steady on your waist, keeping you upright, and you let him.
His chest rises and falls with a slow, steady breath before he lifts one hand, cupping your face, his calloused fingers warm against your damp skin.
"You sure you're okay?"
His voice is quiet, rough around the edges, something almost hesitant underneath it.
You swallow, blinking up at him, exhaustion pulling at your limbs, your bones, every part of you. "Yeah." Your voice is soft, barely above a breath. "I just... 'm tired."
He nods. "I know."
You pout, and God, it's that little pout that always made him wanna kiss you, that always made his chest tight, even when he'd told himself not to care, even when he swore he wouldn't let it get to him.
"I wanna go home," you murmur, voice small, pleading.
His fingers tighten just slightly on your waist. "We'll take you home in a bit."
He leans in. Just a little. Just enough to brush his lips over yours—hesitant, almost unsure, because apparently, the pollen's not fucking with your heads anymore, and maybe this is where it ends, maybe this is where it stops, where everything just goes back to the way it was.
But you kiss him back. Soft, gentle, nothing like the desperate, frantic kisses from before, and his breath catches against your lips.
You pull back, barely, just enough to whisper, "Will you stay tonight?"
His brows pull together, his fingers brushing along your cheek. "Yeah, baby."
Your stomach flutters at the rasp of his voice, and you swallow, biting your lip before murmuring, "Both of you?"
He exhales, tilting his head down, brushing his nose against yours as he whispers, "Yeah. Both of us."
You nod, barely there, barely anything at all, and Jason watches you for a second, something warm, something almost uncertain flickering behind his eyes.
And then, you kiss him again. Soft, sweet, exhausted. And something about the way his lips press to yours, about the way his hand cradles your face, about the way his body relaxes against yours, even now... it feels right.
Like it was always meant to be this way.
Like something shifts inside you, deep in your chest, something small and fragile and terrifying.
Because you've had only fucked up men in your life before. Men who hurt. Men who took. Men who left nothing but bruises and scars in their wake. And now you have them—Jason, Dick—and you're scared.
Scared of losing them, scared of ruining this, scared of the ache in your chest that tells you you want them, not just like this, not just like what happened tonight, but something tells you they feel the same. Something tells you Dick feels the same. Something about the way Jason holds you now, the way he kisses you like it's not just about the fuck, like it matters, like you matter.
After cleaning up and making sure there's no evidence of what went down in the Batcave, the three of you made your way back to your apartment, exhaustion settling deep in your bones, but something warmer, something unchanged lingering between you all.
You're sprawled across your couch, tucked between two very warm, very big bodies, soaking up their heat as you all demolish a large pepperoni pizza. Because after that? After the hours of fucking, the overstimulation, the pollen that had you all wrapped up in a desperate, needy haze?
You're starving. And for once, there's no tension. No awkwardness. No 'so... what now?' kind of moment.
Just pizza. Just warmth. Just them.
Dick sits to your right, long legs stretched out, one arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers idly brushing over your shoulder as he chews, completely at ease.
And Jason's on your left, reclined, socked feet propped up on your coffee table like he owns the place, one arm resting over your thighs while the other holds his slice, chewing with that half-lidded, relaxed expression that means he's content.
And the thing is, it's not weird. It should be, right?
You just got wrecked by both of them in the Batcave of all places, and now you're here, cuddled up between them like it's nothing, like this was normal, like this was just another night of the three of you hanging out.
Except, it wasn't just another night. It was the first time you'd crossed that boundary. The first time you let yourselves give in to the tension that had always been there, just beneath the surface, lingering, waiting for something—anything—to push you all over the edge.
And it should've changed everything. But it didn't. If anything, it felt like it enhanced it.
Like something had clicked into place. Like this was always meant to happen. Dick swallows his bite, licking a bit of sauce from his thumb as he watches you from the corner of his eye. And he knows you.
He knows that little crease between your brows means you're overthinking. That the way you press your lips together means you're trying to make sense of something, trying to name whatever the hell this is, trying to define it.
And for once, you don't have to. Because he gets it. He feels it.
He'd spent years wanting you, wanting this, but never acting on it, because you were one of his closest friends, because you were one of Jason's closest friend, because the idea of losing you over some reckless decision was too much, too dangerous.
Jason snorts as you grab another slice of pizza, shoving it into your mouth like you haven't eaten in days, and he bumps his knee against yours, mumbling, "Jesus, slow down, doll. You're gonna choke."
You roll your eyes, mouth full, and mumble back, "Whose fault is that?"
Dick laughs—a soft, breathy chuckle as he leans back against the couch, his arm draped casually behind you. "She's got a point."
Jason clicks his tongue, tearing off a bite of his own pizza. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."
And it's so normal. So easy. Dick can't stop thinking about it. Because this should feel different. He thought it would feel different.
That maybe things would be awkward, that maybe you'd pull away, that maybe Jason would crack some joke that would make it feel less than what it was, like it was just another fuck, another good time.
But it wasn't.
And this—this easy, quiet warmth, the way you're curled up against them like you've always belonged there, the way Jason hasn't made a single move to leave, the way he hasn't wanted to leave... it feels like something that was always meant to happen.
Because as he glances at Jason, sees the way he's watching you, the way his fingers absently trace circles into your thigh, the way he looks so calm, so sated—he knows Jason feels the same.
Jason, who for the first time in years, isn't holding himself back. Jason, who had spent the last two hours running through every memory of you in his head, trying to figure out how he went so fucking long without having you like that, how he ever convinced himself to not want you. Because he did.
And he won't fucking say it, won't admit it, won't even let the thought settle too deep in his chest, but yeah. Yeah, he feels it, too.
He watches as you swipe a thumb across your lips, catching a stray bit of sauce, your lashes fluttering with exhaustion as you sink deeper into Dick's side, and something inside him tightens.
Because this isn't just some random hookup. This isn't just some heat of the moment bullshit he can brush off and forget. This is you. And fuck, if that doesn't scare the shit out of him.
He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before reaching for another slice, and Dick glances at him, something knowing flickering behind those bright blue eyes.
But neither of them say anything. Because there's nothing to say. Nothing needs to be said. This was the first time the three of you crossed the boundaries of your friendship.
Plot: You spend the whole night teasing Dick—subtle touches, flirty whispers, pressing up against him just to watch him struggle. But the second you're alone? He snaps. You wanted to play? Now you're taking everything he's been holding back.
Dick fucking hates clubs. The loud music, the sweaty bodies pressing too close, the overpriced drinks, it's everything he actively avoids. But you wanted to go, and, well, there's nothing he won't do for you.
He keeps an arm around you the whole night, not because he's possessive—okay, maybe a little—but because you look too damn good in that tiny dress, and he's had to glare down more than one pair of wandering eyes. You're all over him: draped around his shoulders, whispering against his jaw, grinding against his thigh like you don't give a shit who's watching.
And maybe you don't.
Maybe it's the cocktails, or maybe you just love pushing him to the edge, seeing how much he can take before he snaps. Either way, his patience is running on fumes by the time he gets you in the car.
Now, as he drives home, his knuckles tight on the wheel, you're still at it—still teasing, still testing him.
"Dick," you hum, voice all soft and sweet, your head resting against his shoulder.
You drag your nails down his thigh, just barely brushing against his cock through his jeans.
He tenses, jaw clenching. "Baby."
His voice is warning, firm, but you don't give a shit.
You shift closer, lips ghosting against his neck, pressing a kiss to his pulse point. "You're so tense, baby..." Another kiss, this time against his sharp jawline. "Should let me help you relax."
Dick exhales through his nose. "You've had too much to drink."
"So?" you purr, shameless. Your fingers move higher, tracing the outline of his hard dick. "You're so hard, my love."
He curses under his breath, adjusting his grip on the wheel. "Of course I am," he mutters. "You spent all night rubbing your ass on me like a little brat."
You giggle, shifting in your seat, pressing your thighs together. You're soaked, your panties sticking to your cunt, and you know he knows. He can see it, smell it, feel the heat radiating off you.
"Can't help it," you murmur, lips brushing against his ear. "You're so fucking sexy, baby."
His grip tightens on the wheel, and you swear his foot presses just a little harder on the gas.
"We're almost home," he mutters. "Behave."
But you? Oh, you don't behave. You slip a hand between your thighs, pushing your dress up just enough for him to see. You let your fingers trail over your soaked panties, gasping softly at the contact, putting on a show just for him.
And when he glances down—just for a second, just to see what the fuck you're doing—he groans, deep and frustrated, gripping the wheel like it's the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.
You don't stop there. No, you drag your fingers up, pressing against the damp fabric, rubbing slow, lazy circles right where you know it'll make you shiver. Your other hand grips your thigh, spreading yourself open just a little more, just enough to drive him insane.
"Fuck," he grits out, knuckles turning white on the wheel. His jaw clenches so hard you think it might snap. "You're testing me, sweetheart."
"Mmm," you hum, teasing yourself right in front of him, letting out a soft whimper just to push him further. "You don't like it? Thought you liked watching me, my love."
His breath shudders, and his grip tightens, muscles flexing as he struggles to keep his focus on the road. His eyes flick between you and the street ahead, torn between staying in control and pulling over to ruin you.
"Baby," he sighs, his voice strained, dangerous. "You're really testing me tonight."
"Good," you pout, wide, pleading eyes locking onto his. "I need you."
And fuck, if that doesn't snap the last thread of his self-control. Dick knows you too well by now. Knows how you get when you've had one too many cocktails, how you love to test him sometimes, to push just to see how far you can go before he snaps. And usually? He doesn't let you get to him like this.
Usually, he's more composed. He can handle it because he expects it. Because he knows you. He sees the glint in your eyes before you even make a move, can read you like the back of his hand. But tonight?
Tonight, he's fucking struggling.
Maybe it's the dress—the one he loves, the one that hugs your curves just right and rides up dangerously high when you sit. Or maybe it's the way you look right now, flushed and giggling, a little tipsy, a little messy, so fucking breathtaking he can barely stand it.
Either way, the fifteen-minute drive home is pure torture.
His cock is throbbing, painfully hard, pressing tight against his jeans, and all he can think about is you. Your soft moans, the way you touch yourself just to tease him, the way your fingers trembled when they brushed over your soaked panties.
Fuck. He grips the wheel tighter, jaw clenched so hard it aches, forcing himself to focus on the road instead of the filthy thoughts running through his head.
Because if he thinks about it too much? He's definitely pulling over. Pulling you into his lap, yanking that little dress up around your waist, sinking into your dripping pussy and fucking you right here, right now.
But somehow—somehow—he makes it home without losing his goddamn mind.
The second he parks, he's out of the car, moving fast to open your door. But you're even faster, throwing yourself against him, pressing soft, sloppy kisses against his neck as he exhales sharply.
"Baby," he mutters, trying—trying—to sound stern, but you just hum, nuzzling against his jaw.
Then comes the elevator. You're quiet at first, a little sheepish, standing close but not too close. But the second the doors close? Oh, you're an absolute menace.
At the same time you press the button, you press back against him, your ass grinding against his hard cock like you need him to feel how wet you are, how much you want him. His hands snap to your hips, gripping tight, a weak attempt to stop you, but he can't fool you.
"You're so hard," you whisper, voice all sweet and teasing, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan.
He exhales sharply, fingers digging into your waist. "You're cruel, my love."
You moan, just to push him further, just to make him suffer, and fuck, he can feel how badly you want this, how hot and slick you are even through your panties.
But then, the elevator dings.
And like you weren't just grinding against his dick, like you weren't just whimpering for him, you peel yourself away, stepping out with a little sway in your hips, heels clacking against the floor as you walk toward your shared apartment.
He doesn't move for a second. Just stands there, hands clenched, dick aching, trying to comprehend the fact that you just left him like that. You fumble with your keys, giggling when you can't quite get the door open, and he sighs—trying to sound exasperated, but you know better. He's not fooling anyone.
His large hand lands over yours, steadying you just enough to push the key in the lock and open the door. And then? Then you step inside, looking back at him with that wicked, teasing little smile, like you know he's about to ruin you.
But before he can grab you, before he can even shut the door properly, you take full advantage of just how worked up he is. You press back against him, ass grinding right against his dick, slow and deliberate, feeling just how hard he is for you.
His breath punches out in a harsh growl, hands snapping to your hips so tight it's almost bruising. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"Am I?" you murmur, pushing back again, rolling your hips in a way that makes him curse under his breath. His cock twitches against you, and you grin, knowing just how much you're getting to him. "Doesn't feel like you mind."
"Fuck," he grits out, pressing you against the nearest wall, hips grinding right back into you, making you feel just how much you've been teasing him. "You really think you can pull this shit and not pay for it?"
Your only answer is another slow grind, dragging your ass right over the outline of his cock, feeling the heat of him through both layers of fabric. The way he shudders, the way his fingers dig into your hips—it's intoxicating.
His patience? Snapped. And you? You're about to find out exactly how he plans to handle you.
You step inside the hallway with a soft, breathy hum, throwing your keys into the little basket by the door before carelessly tossing your purse onto the coat rack. Then you kick off your heels, sighing as the ache in your feet fades.
Behind you, Dick moves slower. Slipping off his jacket, kicking off his shoes, rolling his shoulders like he's trying to shake off the tension. But the second that door finally clicks shut, the second the world outside disappears? He's on you.
Big hands grip your waist, spinning you around so fast it makes you gasp. And then he's crowding you against the wall, his chest pressed against yours, his breathing slow and deep, like he's trying, really trying, to control himself.
"You think that was funny?" he murmurs, voice low, dangerous.
Your breath catches as you ask in a soft, almost sheepish tone, "What, baby?"
He huffs out a quiet laugh, but there's no humor in it, just pure, raw frustration. "Grinding on me all night. Acting so sweet, so innocent, then leaving me hard as fuck in the club? In the car? In the damn elevator?" His fingers dig into your hips, his lips ghosting over yours. "That was cruel, sweetheart."
Your stomach flips, a rush of heat flooding between your legs. "I—"
Smack.
Your words cut off in a choked moan as his palm cracks against your ass, the sharp, stinging heat stealing the breath from your lungs.
Oh. Oh, he's never done that before. And fuck, you love it.
You make a soft, desperate sound, and Dick stills. You feel the tension in him, the hesitation, like he's waiting, watching, trying to see if he's crossed a line. But you arch into him, pressing your ass back against his hand, silently begging for more.
His breath shudders out of him, and then—
Smack.
The second one lands harder, sending another sharp, electric jolt straight to your aching cunt. You whimper, thighs clenching together, and fuck, Dick feels it. The way your body responds, the way you melt for him, eating it up like you were made for it.
He groans, his hand smoothing over the sting, then gripping hard. "Yeah?" he murmurs, his other hand tangling in your hair, tilting your head back so he can see your face. "You like that, don't you?"
You bite your lip, nodding quickly, breathless. "Yes. Fuck, yes."
He exhales harshly, his cock twitching against your stomach, throbbing. And then? Then he grins.
"Well, in that case..." he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of your ass, teasing, promising. "Let's see just how much you like it."
He spins you around, pressing you up against the wall before you can even catch your breath. His grip is firm, unyielding—one hand on your hip, the other splayed over your lower back, guiding you exactly where he wants you.
And you? You don't hesitate. You know what he wants.
Your hands brace against the wall as you arch your back, pushing your ass up and out, grinding against his dick like you need to feel him. A deep, ragged breath leaves his lips, his fingers tightening on your hip as his cock twitches, aching for you, for relief.
Fuck.
He scrunches your dress up around your waist, shoving the fabric aside, only to be met with the sight of your little red panties, soaked straight through. Jesus Christ. He can see the shape of your pretty little pussy through the lace, the way your folds cling to the delicate fabric, drenched, so wet you've left a spot on his jeans.
And suddenly, he's fighting with himself.
Because fuck, he wants you. Wants to drop to his knees and bury his face between your legs, to fuck you with his tongue until you're begging, gasping, sobbing his name. That's what he usually does, after all. Dick Grayson never fucks before he tastes. It's his rule, his ritual, his religion.
But tonight? Tonight, you've been a brat.
Grinding on him all night, touching him like it was nothing, teasing him with those pretty, drunken smiles while he sat there, barely holding himself together. You knew what you were doing, and you didn't stop, not even in the car, not even when he warned you.
And maybe you thought you'd get away with it. Cute.
A third option slithers into his mind, sharp and wicked. He exhales slowly, dragging his palm over the swell of your ass, feeling the heat of your skin through the thin lace of your panties.
And then? He presses his fingers against your cunt, rubbing you through the slick fabric, slow, torturous, just the barest pressure over your clit, up and down, teasing.
The noise you make is sinful—a soft, needy moan as you roll your hips, seeking more, seeking him.
He doesn't give it to you. Instead, he slaps your ass, sharp and quick, watching the way you jolt, the way your thighs clench together like you felt it between your legs.
And he swears—swears—he sees your pussy flutter around nothing, even through the fabric.
Oh, you really like this.
He groans, low and deep, as he hooks a single finger into the band of your panties, dragging them to the side and exposing your soaked cunt to the cool air of the room. He watches, fascinated, as your folds glisten, all slick and swollen, so pretty, so needy. But he's not done teasing you.
He slides two fingers between your folds, trailing up and down, deliberately missing your entrance, barely brushing your clit. The way you tremble against him, the way your breath hitches every time he almost gives you what you want—it's driving him insane.
"Baby, please," you gasp, voice breathy, desperate.
He groans, slapping your ass again. Your walls clench around nothing, and his cock throbs, painfully hard, aching to be buried deep inside you. But no, not yet. Because he's curious to see how much you can take.
Your whimper is pathetic, desperate, when you try to grind down against his fingers, seeking more—seeking anything—and he pulls them away. You whine, high and needy, hips rolling, chasing after the touch he just denied you.
But Dick? Oh, he's enjoying this far too much.
His cock is aching, thick and heavy, straining against his clothes, the damp fabric sticking to him from how much precum he's leaking. His whole body feels hot, his blood thick in his veins, his self-control hanging by a thread.
And yet, he can hold himself back a little longer. And he will.
He hums, dragging a single finger down your folds, pressing lightly against your clit, circling it—slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. You shudder, your thighs trembling as you press your forehead against the wall, panting softly. Then, without warning, he slides one finger inside you.
You gasp, your slick heat sucking him in immediately, coating him in wetness.
He keeps the pace slow, deliberate, thrusting his finger in and out with steady precision, feeling the way your walls clench around him, already so fucking tight. You push back against his hand, desperate for more, needing more, only for his finger to slip out entirely.
"Fuck," you breathe, frustrated, needy, your cunt clenching around nothing.
Dick smirks because God, you're getting so frustrated, and he loves it. His free hand moves to your ass, spreading you open so he can see better, his breath catching at the way your glistening folds twitch, your arousal dripping down onto your thighs.
"Messy little thing," he murmurs, more to himself than you, but you hear it anyway.
Your breath stutters. Dick doesn't tease you like this. Not verbally, at least. But tonight? Tonight, he's feeling cruel. He resumes fingering you, adding a second finger, stretching you just a little, his thumb rolling over your clit in slow, tight circles.
"Look at you," he mutters, almost toying with the words, like he knows how much they affect you. "You wanted my attention so badly, and now? You can't even ask for it properly."
Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and he groans, dragging them out almost all the way before plunging them back inside.
"Come on," he goads, voice deep, smug. "Use your words, sweetheart. Tell me what you want."
Your nails scrape against the wall, frustration bubbling over, because you do—you do use your words. "Baby—"
And then... he pulls his fingers out. You sob, thighs shaking, your cunt clenching, unclenching, desperate, so close, so needy, so fucking ruined. But he's not done playing with you yet. Not even close.
Because just as your walls flutter around nothing, aching, desperate to be filled, he slides them back in—slowly, so fucking slowly, stretching you all over again, making you feel every inch, every knuckle as he sinks them deep inside your dripping, swollen cunt.
The wet, obscene squelch of your slick-soaked pussy makes his cock throb, and he groans, curling his fingers just right, rubbing against that spot that makes you jerk, makes you keen, makes you shudder.
"Ohhh, fuck, Dick—"
You're trembling, moaning, arms weak as they brace against the wall, legs barely holding you up. Your cunt is wrecked, aching, stretched wide around his fingers as they pump in and out of you.
He's fucking you with them, really fucking you with them now. Hard, fast, each thrust making your slick, messy pussy squelch obscenely. His palm is rubbing against your swollen clit with every movement, sending sharp spikes of pleasure through your already-overstimulated body.
You feel so close, so fucking close, your orgasm curling low in your belly, threatening to snap at any second. Your moans are getting higher, faster, desperate. You can feel it, feel it about to—
He stops and pulls his fingers out entirely.
Your cunt clenches and unclenches around nothing, a pathetic little sob escaping your lips as you whimper, "No, no, baby—please, please..."
"Tsk."
The sound is sharp, cutting through your desperation, making your breath hitch.
And then—
A crack. His large hand lands against your already-flushed ass, a sharp sting blooming across your skin, your walls fluttering from the impact. But before you can so much as moan, he soothes it instantly, grabbing, squeezing, kneading your sore flesh.
"Look at you," he murmurs, voice deep, filthy, full of mock sympathy. "So wet, so fucking desperate, dripping all over my fingers like a needy little thing."
Your head is spinning. Your legs are shaking. You're dying. "Please—baby, I can't—"
"Oh, you can."
He shoves his fingers back inside you, hard, your body jolting forward with the sudden stretch. You wail, eyes squeezing shut, back arching as he fucks you hard and fast, his fingers scissoring inside you, stretching you wider as he pumps them deep.
Your walls clench tight, soaking him, making a mess down your thighs. His free hand grips your ass, spreading you open, letting him see the way your pussy flutters and squeezes around his fingers.
"Look at you," he rasps, voice thick, wrecked. "So fucking greedy. You wanted my attention all night, and now you have it. So take it."
Your whole body shudders, his filthy words making your clit throb, making you tighten around his fingers. Your breath catches, muscles locking up as the pleasure spikes too high, too fast, and you know—you know you're about to cum—
And then he stops. Again. Pulls his fingers out. Again. Leaves you a moaning, trembling, ruined fucking mess.
You sob, whining so fucking pathetically, tears pricking your eyes, "Dick, please, I—"
He leans in close. So close you feel his breath against your ear, warm and thick with control.
"You're cumming on my dick," he murmurs, voice low, dangerous, "or not at all."
Your breath catches. And then you hear it. The sound of his belt being undone. The slow zip of his jeans. The soft click of a button. Your heart pounds. You don't dare move. Don't dare breathe. And you fight the urge to glance over your shoulder.
But then you feel it.
Hot, thick, heavy, his dick, pressing between your soft thighs, grinding against your drenched, aching pussy. You whimper, your whole body twitching as he slides between your folds, coating himself in your arousal, his cock dragging slow, deep against your clit.
"God," he groans, voice strained, the swollen head of his cock bumping against your entrance, notching against you, teasing you. "You're dripping. Making a mess all over me, baby."
Your thighs clench around him, slick and warm, making his dick pulse, and you know he's barely holding on.
"Oh, f-fuck."
You're shaking. Whimpering. So soaked you can hear it, each slow, deliberate glide of his cock through your slick folds, each teasing drag of his heavy length over your swollen clit, each lazy, torturous grind against your aching entrance.
It's cruel, the way he does it—his dick throbbing, leaking precum that mixes with the mess between your thighs, the heat of him smearing against your folds, spreading you open just enough to feel it.
To feel him. But not inside. Not where you need him. He slides against your entrance, lets the thick head of his cock push just barely in, lets you feel the stretch, lets you tremble around the intrusion.
And then he pulls back. Slow. Purposeful. Your pussy clenches around nothing. And you sob, pushing back, trying to catch him, trying to make him slip in, but he's faster.
"Ah-ah, my love," he murmurs, strong fingers tightening around your hips, keeping you still as he drags his cock up again, slick and fever-hot, pressing against your clit until your breath catches and your thighs shake.
"So desperate, aren't you?"
He grins when you nod, when you whine, hips twitching, trying to get something, anything, but he denies you again, shoving your panties farther to the side so he can feel every last inch of your messy, aching cunt. His cock pulses, needy, heavy against your folds. And you are soaked.
So wet, it coats his length in a shiny, glistening sheen, his cock sliding effortlessly between your lips, so slick he can feel it drip down his balls, making a filthy mess of both of you. And yet, he still doesn't give it to you.
"Dick, please—"
Your voice is broken, breathless, needy, and it's exactly what he wanted. But instead of giving in, he just smirks. And then he slaps your ass. Hard. The sound echoes through the room, sharp, obscene, your body jolting, pussy clenching so tight he can feel it, even without being inside.
"Please, what?" he breathes, grinding against your slit again, the fat tip of his cock nudging your entrance, teasing your clenching hole.
You cry out, words slurring together as you moan his name, pushing back against him, desperate for him to fill you.
"You're so fucking messy," he rasps, his voice thick, rough. "Such a wet little thing."
Your walls clench around nothing, your body begging for him to finally just—
"Baby, please, I—"
The words die on your tongue the second you feel it. The hot, swollen head of his dick pressing against your aching entrance, thick and leaking, already so fucking hard it makes your thighs tremble. And then he pushes inside.
The stretch is instant, a slow, searing burn that has your lips parting, a gasp breaking free from your throat as your body struggles to take him. He's just so thick, so big, and no matter how many times he fucks you, no matter how many times his fingers work you open beforehand, it's never enough.
He always splits you open so fucking good, always fills you so deep, the blunt head of his cock dragging through your slick, squeezing walls, forcing you to take him, inch by aching inch.
Your pussy flutters, clenching around him, trying to adjust to the stretch, and he groans—a deep, gritted sound that rumbles through his chest as he grips your hips, holding you still, holding you open for him.
"Fuck, baby—"
His voice is wrecked, raw and shaking with restraint as your walls pulse around him, so tight, so wet he slides in almost effortlessly, your slick making a filthy mess of his cock, coating him, dripping down his balls as he sinks deep—
Deeper.
So fucking deep, stuffing you to the brim, his thick cock stretching you open, forcing you to take all of him, and your whole body shudders. And him? He loses it. His restraint—his precious, steady control—snaps like a goddamn rubber band.
Until he bottoms out with a harsh grind of his hips, until he's buried to the hilt, his heavy balls flush against your swollen clit, his cock filling you, stretching you, forcing your body to take him all. And fuck, he feels it.
How hot you are, how tight, how your pussy clings to him, sucking him in so deep he swears he can feel it in his bones, his teeth gritting as you pulse and squeeze around him like you never want to let him go.
And maybe you don't. Because nothing—nothing—feels better than this. Than him.
You're tight. Hot. Warm. Clenching around him. And the way you squeeze him—fuck—his head spins, his vision blurring. His fingers dig into your hips, the bruises already forming, but he can't help it. He pulls out, only to slam right back in.
"Baby—"
Your moan breaks, your body jolting against him as he starts fucking you. Hard. Deep. Fast. The slap of skin against skin echoes through the apartment, obscene, filthy, wet.
He drives into you, his hips snapping forward with a force that has your body rocking, has your thighs trembling, has your pussy clenching around his thick cock like you can't help it.
The way you squeeze him, the way your slick drips down his shaft, making a mess of his balls, making it easier for him to slam into you, deeper, rougher, making your pussy stretch and mold around him, like your body was made to take him.
And you're so fucking tight. So warm, so wet, so needy, your walls fluttering, gripping him like you don't want him to pull out, like you need him, need every inch, need every ruthless, punishing thrust that makes you whimper, that makes your knees threaten to buckle beneath you.
But he doesn't let you fall.
His grip on your hips is firm, unyielding, possessive, fingers digging into your soft skin, keeping you steady as he ruins you, as he forces you to take it, every brutal snap of his hips, every stroke of his cock dragging along your aching, swollen walls, pressing so deep it feels like he's in your fucking throat.
Your pussy clamps around him, and he grunts, the sound low and rough, his rhythm stuttering for just a second before he drives into you harder, making you gasp, making your eyes roll back, making a fresh wave of slick spill down your thighs.
And he loves it. Loves how messy you are, how fucking perfect you feel around him, how your cunt flutters and clenches every time he slams deep, every time his heavy balls slap against your slick, swollen clit, every time his cock stretches you to your limit, but you still take it. You still need it.
And he gives it to you.
Fucking you like he owns you. Like you belong to him. Like he's not stopping until you're falling apart around his dick, soaking him, creaming all over him, until your body is trembling, until you're so fucked out, so wrecked, you can't take another second.
"You wanted this, huh?" His voice is rough, ruined, breath ragged as he pounds into you. "Wanted to be fucked like this? Made me wait all night—fuck—all fucking night, just to be a dripping, needy mess for me as soon as we got home."
You whimper, your pussy tightening around his thick cock, making him groan.
"Oh, you love that, don't you?"
His hand cracks against your ass. You jerk, moaning so prettily, your walls fluttering around him. He kneads your flushed, sensitive flesh, soothing it for a moment before—
Crack. Another slap.
And fuck, your cunt clamps down on him.
"Fuck, there you go," he growls, voice dark, thick with filthy approval. "Squeezing my dick so fucking tight—shit—you love this, huh? Being fucked nice and rough, just how you fucking need it."
You sob, overwhelmed, the pleasure so much, so good, stealing the air from your lungs.
"God," he groans, fucking into you even deeper, your slick, tight heat making his head spin, his control crumbling with every thrust. "This pussy's fucking perfect. Taking me so fucking well, baby."
And you? You're losing your mind. You barely know your own name right now. Because what the fuck? He's never fucked you like this before. Sure, Dick always fucks you good, always knows exactly how to work your body, but this? The filthy words, the rough grip on your hips, the way he spanks you without a second thought—
This is something new.
And through the fog of pleasure, through the way he's slamming into your pussy, his thick cock stretching you wide, fucking you so deep you swear he's in your fucking throat, you love it. You love every second of it.
The sting of his palm against your ass. The sting of his cock stuffing you so full, pushing against that perfect, sweet spot inside you over and over. The sting of being used, of being fucked just how you need it.
And him? Dick is barely holding on. Your pussy is squeezing him so fucking tight, like you're trying to pull his soul straight out of his fucking cock.
"Oh, fuck—" he grits his teeth, his hips slamming against your ass, the impact making you jerk against the wall, making you fucking whimper. "This tight little pussy is fucking unreal—"
And then he does it again. Another hard slap to your already tender ass. And you gasp, your walls clenching down so hard around him he nearly fucking chokes.
"Fucking shit," he groans, his fingers digging into your hips, leaving bruises on your soft skin as he pounds into you, lost in the wet, filthy sounds of his dick driving in and out of your dripping cunt. "So fucking tight... gripping me like crazy."
Your pussy's so soaked, so slippery, your wetness leaking all over his cock, down his balls, your thighs, making an absolute mess of both of you.
"Shit—" His head tips back, sweat dripping down his temple as he wrecks you. "Gonna cum for me, pretty girl? Hmm? Gonna make a fucking mess on my dick?"
And fuck, you are. "God, baby, I—"
Your voice shatters, your whole body shuddering as the orgasm slams into you.
Hard. Fast. All at once. It steals the air from your lungs, makes your vision go white, your toes curling, your nails digging into the wall as you sob.
Your pussy pulses around him, clenching and fluttering, so tight he can barely fucking move, his dick struggling against the suffocating squeeze of your convulsing walls.
Your slick gushes out in hot, messy waves, coating his cock, his balls, dripping down your thighs in sticky, glistening streams. Every aftershock makes you jerk, makes your body spasm, your walls gripping him in tight, desperate pulses, milking him for all he's worth. And he feels it—every ripple, every shudder, every desperate, squeezing tremor that makes his cock throb inside your spasming cunt.
But he doesn't stop. He won't stop.
"Fuck, baby—"
He groans, his voice so thick, so fucked out as he keeps going, fucking you right through your orgasm, his thick cock dragging against your spasming walls, his hands everywhere, grabbing, kneading, spanking.
And your slick? It's fucking everywhere. Dripping out of your swollen cunt, coating his cock, his balls, your trembling thighs, making a sloppy, wet mess between your legs. You barely have time to breathe before you feel it—
The slow, teasing glide of his fingers down your belly, slipping lower, brushing over your sweat-damp skin before reaching your swollen, aching clit.
"Baby, n-no—"
You whimper, your body shuddering as his fingertips press against the throbbing bud, rubbing tight, slow circles. The touch is too much—you can barely fucking breathe from the overstimulation, from how hard he's fucking you, how deep, every thrust knocking the air out of your lungs.
And he laughs. A deep, dark chuckle, rumbling straight from his chest, so fucking smug as he rubs your clit harder.
"No?" he taunts, his voice thick with mockery—with lust—as he watches your legs tremble, watches your body jerk with every flick of his fingers, watches the way your swollen pussy clamps down around his cock, desperate for relief, even as you try to deny it.
"But you've been such a brat, pretty girl," he hums, his thrusts slowing—deep, shallow strokes that have you seeing fucking stars, the tip of his cock dragging against the soft, hot walls of your pussy, hitting your womb with every heavy grind of his hips. "You were so desperate, weren't you?"
He tuts, rubbing faster, making your whole body jolt, your knees buckling as your arms nearly give out, leaving you gasping, moaning, tears of pleasure blurring your vision.
"Now you're gonna take everything I give you."
His free hand slides up your body, rough and greedy, grabbing at your hips, your waist, your ribs—before reaching your tits.
And then he pulls your dress down. The fabric pools around your waist, leaving your soft, aching breasts bare, and they bounce with every sharp, hungry thrust of his hips.
"Fuck—"
His voice wavers, his movements stuttering for a fraction of a second as he watches, completely fucking mesmerized.
Your tits are perfect. Soft and sensitive, your nipples tight and pebbled, practically begging for his touch.
And he gives it to you. He palms one of them roughly, squeezing, kneading, his thumb teasing over your nipple before rolling it between his fingers, tugging just right, making your back arch, making your cunt pulse around him.
"Dick," you sob, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body trembling as your orgasm builds again, sharp and intense, growing so fucking fast you can barely think.
He can feel it. The way your pussy flutters around him, the way your thighs shake, the way your moans turn into desperate, high-pitched whimpers. And he doesn't slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder.
"That's it, baby," His voice is thick, dripping with lust, with filth, his fingers still working your swollen clit, his hips snapping forward in that relentless, brutal pace. "Cum for me. Fuck, I need to feel you cum again—"
And then you break. You moan, your body convulsing, your back arching as pleasure rips through you. Your pussy clamps down hard, squeezing his cock so tight, so wet and hot, milking him in the most obscene way. And he groans, long and deep, his fingers digging into your skin as he keeps fucking you through it, drawing it out, making your body tremble with overstimulation.
"God, fuck," he grits, feeling your slick gush out, making a mess, dripping all over his cock, his balls, his thighs. "So fucking tight—"
And he doesn't stop. Not until you shudder under him, not until your body collapses, boneless and spent. He's so fucking close.
He can feel it. That sharp, unbearable heat coiling at the base of his spine, the tight pull in his gut, his whole body tense as he pounds into you, hard and deep, his dick soaked in your wetness. Every thrust pushes his cock against that perfect, spongy spot inside you that has you gasping, whimpering, legs shaking beneath him.
And you—God, you're so fucking tight, so wet, so warm, sucking him in so deep, so desperate.
"F-Fuck," he chokes out, voice ragged, his hand gripping your hip so fucking tight, like he's holding on for dear life.
And you clench around him. Tight, wet, perfect, and he breaks. His whole body jerks as he thrusts deep, hips snapping forward one last time, burying himself to the fucking hilt as his cock pulses inside you.
Thick, hot spurts of cum flood your cunt, filling you up until you feel it, sticky and wet, deep in your belly, so much it seeps out around his cock, leaking down your thighs, mixing with the mess of slick already dripping from your swollen, used pussy.
And it undoes you. The second you feel it—his hot cum spilling inside you, claiming you—you shatter. You sob, your whole body tensing, back arching as pleasure rips through you, as your pussy clenches around him, milking his cock for everything, sucking every last drop from his pulsing length.
Your walls squeeze him, gripping him, and he groans, long and low, his hips jerking, his cock throbbing, spitting more cum inside you, stuffing you so full it drips from your stretched little hole, trailing down in thick, filthy strings.
It's so fucking intense, so overwhelming, your orgasm slamming into you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless, helpless, your pussy spasming around his cock so fucking tight he chokes on a moan. His hands grip your waist so hard it burns as he forces himself deeper, grinding his dick into your wrecked, soaked cunt, pushing his cum deeper, making a fucking mess of you.
And you cream around him, your slick gushing, your cunt squeezing his still-hard length, milking him, coating him in your release, dripping down your inner thighs in slick, milky streaks.
You're so full, so fucking wrecked, your pussy fluttering, overstimulated, still clamping down around his spent cock like you don't want him to leave, like you want to keep every drop of his hot, thick load inside you.
And he fucks it into you. Even as he trembles, even as his body shudders with every aftershock, he keeps moving. Slow, deep, languid strokes, fucking his cum deeper, feeling the way your walls flutter around him, milking every last drop, until it's too much, until you're both shaking, until neither of you can breathe.
And then he stills. His dick still buried inside you, his body pressed against your back, both of you panting, trembling, moaning soft and breathless into the sweat-damp air.
And then he hears it. A sniffle. And just like that, he's back. The haze of lust fades, replaced with something softer, something tender, something so undeniably him.
"My love..."
His voice is soft, low, thick with concern as his arms slip around your waist, pulling you close, his nose nuzzling into your soft hair. "Are you okay?"
And you—God, you can't even speak. Because this was everything. The best fuck of your life. Because it's him. Your boyfriend. The love of your fucking life.
Because he's so perfect, so good to you, even after ruining you like this. And so you just nod, still breathless, your whole body limp against him, sinking into his warmth, his touch, into him.
And he... he can't believe he did that. Because this—this is new. He's always been gentle with you, careful, attentive. Because he adores you, because he wants you to feel safe, to feel cherished, to know that he loves you more than anything. But tonight, fuck, tonight you did something to him. And he liked it. Maybe a little too much.
His lips press against your shoulder—soft, lingering—like an apology, like a silent I've got you.
And he does.
Even as you tremble in his arms, even as you gasp, still shuddering, still fucked-out and overwhelmed, he holds you—one arm wrapped tight around you, his other hand slipping down, splaying wide over your soft, aching belly, grounding you in the aftermath of everything.
His touch is everything—soft, gentle, his.
Your breathing is still shaky, uneven, little exhales of pleasure spilling from your lips as you slowly come down—drunk, euphoric, and so fucking warm, floating somewhere between exhaustion and pure, blissful satisfaction.
And then—
"Baby..." Your voice is so soft, so breathless, and then you gasp out, "That was... God, I can't even explain it."
And his breath hitches. Because fuck—
He suddenly feels bad. Like maybe he pushed you too far, like maybe he should've held back, like maybe he should've stopped, should've made sure you were okay before ruining you like that.
Because you've never told him you like stuff like this. And truth be told, he didn't think he had it in him, either.
But God.
The way you melt into his touch, the way you sigh, blissed-out and so fucking content, the way you're smiling, lips parted, breath shallow and slow. Maybe he didn't push you too far. Maybe he gave you exactly what you wanted.
So he swallows, presses his lips to the top of your head, and then he pulls out—slow. Careful.
But still, you whimper, and he winces. "I'm sorry, baby, I—"
But before he can finish, you're turning in his arms, slow and lazy, and fuck—
Your face is flushed, your makeup smudged, lips swollen from how many times you bit them trying to hold back your moans. And still, you are the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.
And then... you giggle. And it wrecks him.
Because you're fucking glowing, drunk and giddy, your arms looping around his neck, your body pressing flush against his, and he can feel it. Your warmth. Your breath. Your happiness. Your love.
And he's looking at you like you just rewrote the stars, like you just changed something in him, like he doesn't know what the fuck to do with himself anymore.
And then you murmur, "I mean it. That was... so fucking good, baby."
And he just laughs, pressing his lips to your forehead, wrapping his arms tight around you, pulling you in, holding you close like he'll never let you go.
"You're impossible, pretty girl."
And you pout, all soft and tired and adorable, and fuck—he needs to kiss you, but before he can, you whisper, "Maybe... but you still love me, don't you?"
♡ fluffy angst. Jason Todd questions his ability to love and be loved.
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•
There was a time when you could sleep through the night sounds without stirring - every siren, every shout from the sidewalk, every blaring alarm rolled off your body without so much as a toe twitch.
Nothing was the same anymore. Not since Jason had entered, since you discovered what he did at night, who he was. Now you heard the mice in the walls and the wind on the glass. Always hanging off some precipice, always wondering, asking. Tonight?
Was it worth it? Mostly.
So it's a restless sleep you're pulled from when your phone rings. It jerks you into a sitting position and has your heart punching bruises against your rib cage, your hand reaching to the nightstand to answer before it stops.
One deep breath, to calm your heart, though it doesn't have the desired effect. Your voice still trembles. "Hello?"
"Hey. Did I wake you up?"
Jason sounds the same. His voice is always rougher behind the mask, but the image of him in your head has him without it. Somewhere alone in the darkness of Gotham. You imagine an alley; you don't really know where he goes on these nighttime patrols.
"No," you lie. Your eyes dart to the television, asking if you're still watching? "I was a watching a movie. Where are you?"
He grunts, a noncommittal noise meant to be the answer you're looking for. "I didn't mean to. Sorry."
"It's fine anyway, Jay. I don't mind you waking me." You settle back against the pillows. Habit keeps the spot on the side of the window open for him. "Are you coming over tonight?"
"I don't know."
His words, their tone, wash over you like ice water. Fixing the blanket over your shoulders does nothing. But you don't ask, don't overstep the boundaries he keeps around himself. Don't know how yet.
You're not imagining him right.
Not an alley. He's in an apartment. It's trashed, holes in the fabric of the couch, mold on the walls, trash scattered across the floor. Aside from him, there are two others, a woman and a child. He doesn't know them, but he hurts for them: she's blissed out on some new drug, and the kid's asleep without a care or the knowledge of where the night had taken Jason, or why that even matters to a kid like him. He doesn't know the mistakes that have been made. Not until the sun rises.
He wants to believe it's everything that's happened to him, that's why he's so angry, why he sometimes feels like a million pieces of broken glass trying to fit together again. Why control feels like such a far-off thing, always out of reach. His hands react before the rest of him catch up, and he wants to act like it's everything else - his mother, his father, dying and coming back, Bruce - to blame.
Because if it's on him, then that means he has to be the one to admit it. He has to be the one to fix it.
"Jason." Your voice is soft, like a pillow against his ear. He's woken you up, he knows, and he hates himself for that. He shouldn't have called. Didn't want to talk anyway, but hearing you is fixing something inside him.
"Go back to bed," he says. "I have to take care of some things. You have work tomorrow?"
A little noise, hmm, from your pursed lips. He knows it, makes him smile. The woman nearby moans softly. "Maybe," you say. "Feeling like I might be getting sick, though. Maybe I should skip, just in case."
He's ruining you. Upending your life and throwing it off course, and how undeserving he was of that privilege. This needed an end. It would only get worse from here, and you would end up hating him, or dead.
That thought cuts like a light through the fog. Blinding. Consumes him, swirls in his skull. He looks up at the woman again, and how deserving he is of this scene - of this particular mess he's made, not even considering the kid in the other room who no longer has a father, soon won't have a family at all. Another life destroyed.
Can't destroy yours. This has to end and it has to be now. Better to be hated than speaking at your funeral.
Jason swallows. "I...we need to talk."
"Then come over," you say. "I miss you. I'm worried. You don't sound good."
The words don't come. He's not sure what to say.
"If something happened, you can tell me. Or not, if you're not feeling up to it. I'm not going to act like I understand or I know, like, the shit you do, but you need a space to talk, I'd like to be that space."
Again, he can't answer. He listens not just to your voice but to the sounds you make on the line: the bed complaining as you shift, the rustle of the blanket. And he decides, maybe not yet. Maybe a little longer.
Cruel, that. You deserve more. He can't give it.
"How much longer will you be?" You ask, as if this is the most normal thing.
"Might be morning before I get to you," Jason says. "Don't wait up."
You laugh, and he can't help but smile. "You're not the boss of me. Besides, I don't think I can fall back to sleep. Your fault. I'm not complaining though."
Just a little longer, then he'd figure out a clean break. "Alright. I'll try to be quick."
"Careful over quick, okay?"
"Yeah. Sure." His fingers tighten on his phone. There's words he wants to say but he knows he shouldn't, if only because it will make things worse in the end. "I'll see you soon."
"I'll be waiting. Be careful, Jay. I want you home."
Home. Was that you?
"I will. Go back to sleep," he says, again, for no reason. Bids you goodbye and hangs up finally to deal with the situation in front of him. More lives he's about to ruin.
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•
The sun is shaking sleep from her eyes by the time Jason makes it to you, appearing on your fire escape with a soft thud. The sound pulls you from your show, and you watch his grand entrance: prying open your window and slipping inside, still in uniform, mask and hood concealing his face. You leave the warmth of the bed to help him undress wordlessly, and retrieve from your closet clothes he's left here.
"Sorry I'm late." He tugs on a pair of sweatpants while you catefully arrange his uniform on the armchair by the window.
"Better late than never." You close the distance between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his waist before standing on tiptoes to kiss him. "Tired?"
He nods. "Long night."
That's all he'll tell you, and for now you have no option but to accept it. It's fine.
You wonder what he thinks, as he slips into bed with your, pulls the covers up and you into his arms. What goes through his head. Tonight, he smells like iron and gunpowder, like he does so many nights. Maybe that's part of it; there's things he's done he doesn't want forgiveness for. How do you deal with a man like that? One who sees himself in the most undeserving light?
It's confusing, and there were times to give it up, but those have long passed. Now his future is mapped on yours.
You brush your fingers lightly over the scar that cuts down the center of his abdomen. "I love you, Jason," you whisper, words light kisses to his neck.
He hugs you tighter. He won't say it, and that, too, is fine for now. There is always tomorrow, and there always will be.
In time, sleep will come for you both: you first, then Jason. But for now he lays awake, holding you as your lips part and eyes close, your body relaxing into exhaustion again. He thinks about too many things. Can't calm his thoughts.
But maybe there is tomorrow. Maybe for now, you can be his home.
♡ Bruce may not be able to get revenge for Jason's death, but he can pay for a weekend at a snowy mountain resort for the two of you. Hot tub and a special appearance by Mr. Todd's bag of goodies.
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•
Cold air bites at your exposed cheeks. Bubbling heat engulfs the rest of your body, steam rising from the water's surface as you rest your head back on the pillowed edge of the hot tub. Below a village more deserving of a Christmas card sparkles in the setting sun, cupped in the embrace of snow-peaked mountains. There's not a thought, not a worry, running through your head as you soak in the water. If only this could be real life and not simply a weekend getaway.
None of the other cabins are visible from your perch in the mountains. All is quiet, the only sounds the bubbling of the hot tub and the occasional kiss of the wind. Even with the window to the cabin's master bedroom open, you can't hear Jason snoring - though you know for a fact he is, having passed out nearly as soon as you got here. But you can't really blame him. He needs the sleep.
Still, you'd like a little time with him. In your travel bag was an arsenal of lingerie and toys, and you'd be at least a little disappointed not breaking out some of them. Here, where the walls weren't paper thin and you could make some noise without the neighbors banging on your door. Where Jason couldn't disappear in the middle of the night.
Three whole days with him. You couldn't waste a breath.
New sounds enter your bubble: the creak of the bed, feet meeting the hardwood floor, as Jason finally seems to be stirring from his deserved nap. You keep your eyes closed but ears open as the sliding doors leading to the patio open.
His presence is felt, the weight of him thrusting in your gut before he even places his lips to your forehead. "How dare you start without me?"
You open one eye and squint at him. "You're the one who passed out. You're lucky I didn't leave you here entirely."
"Right. Sure." He's wearing too much, still in his jeans and a thick sweater, hair tousled from good sleep. All of it makes him look softer, more tender, than the man you know in Gotham. It's not a complaint, maybe. Only different.
You sit up enough to expose shoulders missing the telltale bikini straps, alerting him that you were at least topless. Jason's eyebrow cocks in a quick, blink and you'll miss it move, before he clears his throat and leans on the side of the hot tub. The foamy bubbles won't break to give him a peek at below.
"Are you coming in? It's really nice." You slip out of reach, turning to cross your arms on the edge of the tub. The village underneath appears to be falling into a quiet evening step, streetlamps clicking on as open signs are shuttered.
"Are you wearing anything?" Jason asks.
You give him a sideways glare. "Yes, Jason. I've got bottoms on."
"I didn't know. I thought people hung out naked in these things."
"That sounds gross."
He shrugs, gripping the hem of his sweater. It comes off over his head in one slick move. Your attention - half of it, anyway - returns to the village. It feels like a caricature, a fantasy place caught inside a snowglobe. Too perfect to be real.
Water splashes out of the tub as Jason steps in. The bubbles lick his waist as he moves to sit next to you, draping one arm over the edge to watch the scene below.
"What do you think it's like?" There's something unplaceable in his gaze as he drags it over the village. "Living here."
"Nothing like being on vacation here." You turn your head to look at him instead, resting your chin on your arm. His profile is sharp and soft, scarred and still smooth, gentle.
"It's not Gotham," he says.
You shake your head. In the movement, strands of hair wiggle themselves loose from the messy knot you piled them into. You sit up to fix it, dragging wet fingers through your damp hair.
Jason watches, quiet, at the simple way you fix your hair, the stretch of your arms. the concentration in your eyes. Mesmerized.
"It'd be nice, I think." You return to your spot, though a little closer to him now. "Boring."
"I could handle boring."
A tease sits on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back at the last second. "Me too," you say. "We could...be sheep farmers."
He snorts. "They do that here?"
"Maybe. I don't know."
A smile spreads across his face, eyes crinkling under the pressure of it. He reaches his hand to your waist under water to tug you closer. "Sit in my lap. I want to hold you."
"Hold me, or fuck me?"
"One first. Then the other."
Soft and pliant in his arms, you float to his lap and nuzzle his neck, cheek finding home on his shoulder. Another new sound, the distant beat of his heart. Steady pump of blood. Alive, in the now, and safe.
A knot forms in your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow it down. You're not going to think about those things right now, not here, not in this place or moment. Instead you concentrate on the hum of the hot tub's jets, the firmness of his shoulder under your cheek, the circle of his fingertips on your hip bone.
His other hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip. "Don't fall asleep."
You pick your head up. "You get to sleep, but I don't?"
"You had your chance." Jason moves his hand to cup the back of your head. Pupils blown out with want meet yours, the silent question trapped in them to obvious to ignore.
There's no option but to give in. He's impossible to say no to, not when those blue-green eyes are so brazen in their display of need. Lips meet in a soft kiss, part for tongues. Hands brush and slip, tangle and grip, hair, flesh, scars. The water temperature rises another twenty degrees, searing sensitive skin pink. You find your lips drawn to the curve of his neck and wrap them over a patch of skin near a scar faded white.
Red petal-shaped marks bloom everywhere you plant your lips to his skin. His hands grip your waist, pull you closer until you're flush against him. Cup your breasts, tease your nipples under the water with gentle circles and pinches. You let him, lean for him to repay the favors you've painted across his neck and collarbone.
Jason is rougher, always has been, teeth scraping the skin on your throat with the intention of leaving his mark. One hand at your back keeps you from floating away as you arch into his kiss. Thumb and forefinger work your nipple until firm, but it feeds a desperation in you. Need his mouth lower.
You shift higher onto your knees and lift out of the water, only enough to expose your breasts to the cold. Jason is quick to remedy the shiver that runs through your body, making a quick path down to a breast, closing his mouth around a nipple. He's more careful as he sucks, less teeth, but hard enough to twist your core. Your cunt clenches around nothing when he pulls off, a thread of spit connecting his lips to the bud. It breaks as he moves to your other breast to slather it in the same attention.
You cup the back of his head, wet fingers tangled in the dark strands, thigh muscles tensing with want to sink back down and impale yourself on him. But the ask remains caught in your throat, kept in place by his hands and his mouth, busy on your body and too good to quiet with your words.
He hums around your breast trapped in his mouth. The vibrations explode down your arms and back in the form of goosebumps. You tug his hair, not purposefully, but because control is slipping and you're searching for anything on which to ground yourself.
Jason pops free of your nipple and smiles up at you, already looking drunk. His hand disappears under the water and toys with the string of your bikini where it sits on your hip. "Regretting this now, huh?"
You forego an answer in place of kissing him again. His hand brushes up your thigh and under the fabric of your bikini to cup your ass. Possessive, how tight he squeezes. You return the favor with another tug of his hair, this time meaning it when his lips are wrenched from yours.
"Let's take this inside," you whisper.
Jason frowns. "I can't make it that far."
But he lets go when you lift off his lap, watching the jiggle of your ass as you climb out of the hot tub. The chill grabs you first, scrapes nails over now exposed skin. You grab a cold towel from the chair near the tub and rush to dry off as you hurry inside.
Jason is on your heels, as expected, grabbing you by the arm as soon as he's inside and pulling your body to his. Lips crash, teeth clatter, from the cold and the mess of the kiss, uncoordinated and raw as his moves are. Your breath shivers off your tongue, and he takes you into his lungs without pause. The walk to the master bedroom is a stumbled blur, but when you open your eyes you're in his arms above the bed.
You take his bottom lip between your teeth, let it snap back. "You made it. I believed in you, you know?"
He drops you unceremoniously onto the mattress. You don't bother crawling to the pillows before throwing off your bikini bottoms, but he walks away to the armchair under the window where your shared luggage still sits.
"What are you looking for?" You sit up on your elbows and watch him root through his bag. "Can you close the window?"
Jason pushes shut the glass and locks it. Funny, you think, considering you keep yours unlocked just for him. "I brought a couple things," he says, glancing over his shoulder.
It's not really surprising. Maybe you share a brain cell, or at least your vibes run on the same wavelength. You lie back, feet fluttering in the air with excitement as he approaches with a silky black bag in one hand, the other fidgeting with the waistband of his damp boxer briefs, tight enough to expose the entire shape of his cock. It's mouth-watering, literally, but you're quick to wipe away the drool from the corner of your lips before he notices.
The briefs are lost to the floor, and you don't feel an ounce of shame letting your gaze drop immediately to his cock, swollen and flushed with arousal. His hands are busy, but doing what you could care less. You sit up and wrap a hand around him, using your thumb to smear the pre-cum that beads at the tip. He makes a strangled noise and grabs your wrist.
"Calm down." He presses his lips to your ear. "I'll give you what you want, babe, but we're doing it my way."
So much arousal floods your body at the words - at the way they drip with lust like honey, the way they wrap your ear and brush your skin - you're surprised you haven't soaked through the bed. Slowly you release his cock, doe-eyed as you look up at him.
He holds up a vibrator, C-shaped, dual stimulation. Clicks the silicone ends together and smiles. "I want to hear you scream," he says. "Are you going to scream for me? Say yes."
You nod. What are words, anyway? You've forgotten.
"Babe, I said say yes. In fact - yes, sir."
You wet your lips. "Yes, sir. I'll scream all you want, Jay."
That wide grin cracks across his face, betraying the persona he's trying to play off. He clears his throat and reaches into the bag again, this pulling out strips of black satin. "Can I tie you up?" He asks.
You nod. God, your pussy would nod if it could, swollen as it is with fucking need. "Yes, sir."
His chest heaves with deep breaths. "Give me...a safe word. Pick something easy."
Your only thoughts at the moment are: Jason, cock, fuck. But those won't work, keen as you are to scream them out loud the moment he gets his hands on you, and so you scan the room for something, anything. There's a painting on the wall of a goat on a mountainside.
"Goat," you say.
Jason snorts. "No. Really? Okay."
You're not going to use it anyway, you figure. Jason, as tough as he is out on the streets, as dirty as his hands are from the things he's done, is unbelievably soft. Tender. You've known it forever, in the ways he shows his love because he doesn't know how to say it out loud - the way he remembers that you prefer the soft brownies in the center of the pan, or by putting on detective shows before he leaves at night because he knows they help you sleep, or by reading the books he sees on your shelf so he can ask you about them, talk with you about things you like. The love letters you find on your pillow.
When that satin wraps around your wrists, held at your back, it's loose. "Pull on this one," Jason whispers in your ear, brushing fabric in your right hand. "That'll get you out fast."
You purse your lips. He gives you a short kiss before knocking you back over gently.
"Let me see how wet you are." Jason slides a hand over your thigh, urging you to spread them for him. His cock twitches at the sight as you do, pussy glistening with want, his question easily answered with just a look. You jolt when his finger brushes over your clit before sinking into your heat.
He sighs. "Shit. Is this all for me, babe? You need me this bad?"
"Yes, sir." Your hips squirm on their own, trying to take his finger deeper. He pulls free and leaves you achingly empty, though it's not for long, as he presses the thick end of the vibrator against your pussy.
A concentrated look takes over his face as he fits the vibrator's suction end over your clit. "I control it," he says. His eyes flash up to meet yours, to read if there's hesitation in them.
You nod understanding.
He tugs you to the edge of the bed and helps you sit before retrieving the vibrator's remote from the bag. His fingers card through your hair and make to pull out your hair tie - the movement doesn't prove fluid, and he pauses to tug it out gently and fix your hair before pulling your head back. You can't bite back your smile.
"Open your mouth," he orders.
Lips part wide for him. He presses two fingers onto your tongue and pushes them into your mouth. Instinct - or the game - has you closing your lips around them and sucking, almost gagging as he thrusts to your throat.
A jolt slams through your body. You yelp around his fingers - it's not cute, not pretty, but a weird, little dog type yelp. There's no time to contemplate it as the vibrations pick up inside your cunt, right up against that rough patch of pleasure, and the suction on your clit increases.
Jason pulls his fingers from your mouth to hook a thumb at the corner. "I want to cum in your throat," he says through gritted teeth, almost a growl. "You're going to be a good girl, right, babe? Gonna let me cum in your throat?"
You nod, already messy, his thumb keeping you from moving your mouth for a proper yes, sir. It doesn't matter this time; the physical agreement is enough for him. He guides you off the bed and to your knees on the floor, then pauses.
Frowns. Walks around the bed and grabs a pillow for under your knees. "Comfy?"
Your cunt clenches around the vibrator. You're close, the suction infuriating on your clit, rhythmic and pulsing and sucking and fuckfuckfuck. "Yeah," you squeak. "Jay...gonna cum."
"Already? We just started." His fingers scrape through your hair to wrap it around his fist as he smears the head of his cock on your lips. You open for him, take the tip of his length into your mouth. Pre-cum coats your tongue but doesn't help as you struggle to take him deeper. The vibrations inside your cunt echo through your body and make it nearly impossible to concentrate on the task at hand.
You whine, the sound coming out gargled as Jason hooks his thumb into the corner of your mouth again. Spit drips down your chin as he thrusts into your mouth, each one deeper than the last, until you're where he wants you - gagging around him, throat tightening on his cock. A mess, tears already bubbling in the corners of your eyes, thighs clenching together to fight against the inevitable.
Your peak is felt shortly before it bursts, a bubble swelling in your core that explodes through your body in pulsing waves. Jason feels it in the way every muscle in you tenses, including your throat, clamping down on him with another muffled whine. His hand at the back of your head keeps you in place, keeps his cock buried in you, as you ride the pleasure.
Then all at once that pleasure is gone, replaced with the burn of overstimulation. The remote is pressed against your cheek in the hand that remains hooked in your mouth, but he makes no movement to lower the pressure. You lift on your knees, wiggle your hips, like you can run away from it, can stop the burning.
"One more," Jason grunts through gritted teeth. "Give me another, babe, come on."
It's hot, boiling, a painful knot in your core as you're dragged back up to your peak. You try to focus on his cock, tightening the suction around his thick length as he fucks into your mouth, fighting against the gag as he buries inside you. Hairs tickle your nose as he bottoms out and holds you down. You look up at him, tears streaking your cheeks, spit and precum coating your chin. You're on the verge of screaming, another orgasm reaching point, and by the look in his eyes - the haze, the blowout - he's close.
It racks through your body, the release, shudders and burns through every fiber. You choke on his cock and that's all it takes to bring him to a crashing end. His hips give weak, trembling thrusts, an instinctual attempt to be deeper in you as he pulses down your throat. Between the jolt of your own hips and him, it's too much to handle, and you gag on his cock, cum trickling from your lips down your chin, landing on your breasts.
The vibrations finally cease, and Jason pulls free of your mouth. Your chest heaves as you finally manage to catch your breath as he brushes your hair with his fingers.
"Fuck." Jason leans to kiss your forehead, cupping your tear-stained cheeks. "So good, babe. You okay?"
You nod weakly. He doesn't stop kissing you, showering you in them, forehead to cheek to ear.
"I'll get a towel. Ready to stand?" He holds your waist, steadying your balance as you lift back to your feet, and guides you to collapse back on the bed.
"Untie me?" You wiggle your shoulders.
Jason shakes his head. "Not yet."
You turn your head to watch him disappear into the bathroom, leaving you with your arms twisted behind your back and legs hanging off the bed, release dripping down the insides of your thighs. You could pull the knot free, sit up and end this, but there's a new swell in your gut that doesn't want to. He's back a moment later, hotel towel in hand.
"You're not done?" You ask, as he wipes your mouth and chin clean.
"Are you?" He sets the towel aside and leans over you. Two fingers slip into your swollen cunt, and you gasp, their intrusion jostling the vibrator inside. His nose scrunches in concentration as he scissors his fingers apart. "No," he says. "Not until you cum on my cock."
Eagerly, you nod. "Yes, sir."
Jason cups one of your breasts and squeezes roughly before capturing your nipple in his mouth. The blood's already begun rushing to his cock again, stiff as he grinds against your inner thigh while his fingers work to prepare you. Every thrust has the vibrator brushing your clit, but it's not enough to peak again, only to tease.
With a wet squelch, he pulls his fingers free and brings them your mouth. You already know what he wants. Your lips wrap them without hesitation, tasting the sweetness of your release as he watches. Mesmerized. How easy it is to get you to obey.
Jason straightens up, fingers leaving your mouth and breast to grip your hips possessively. His lips part and hang open for a moment, then close again without a word. You squirm lower and nudge him closer with a knock of your heel to his butt.
"Are you gonna fuck me, Mr. Todd?" You blink at him with those big eyes, pupils blown up with lust. "Gonna fuck me with that big cock?"
He grins. "I know what you want, babe. You've got no patience." He leans over you again, one fist holding him up, the other hand reaching for the vibrator remote. You tense at the sight of it.
The spread burns, only a little, as he notches the head of his cock against your entrance. You're wet enough, ready enough, to take him, but with the addition of the vibrator still nestled inside it's a tighter fit than you're used to. You choke on a moan as he bottoms out, his own face screwed up in concentrated pleasure.
Then that jolt, again. That fresh, hot, burning, sucking pressure on your clit, the vibrations against your core, his cock stuffing you full and slamming into your cervix with each long, desperate thrust. He grabs your hips to keep you still as he fucks into you without control; the vibrations are too much for him to handle, and he's not going to last as long as he wanted.
It's too much. Your release swells and pops, ricochets through your body and comes out in the shape of a scream - loud, raw, something that sounds a little like his name, or at least that's what he imagines - and then it burns.
Your legs shake uncontrollably. Jason's arms give out, can't hold him up, and his lips crash on yours in a fiery kiss that you can't reciprocate, too distracted at the burn of being overstimulated, nearly missing the throb of his cock inside you as he cums - you feel that at the very last second, when he slams into you, unable to move as the orgasm rocks his body.
He's quicker this time to shut the vibrator off, before losing all strength and collapsing atop you. Every breath from your lungs trembles, little shocks of pleasure still caught in your nerves. A tear rolls down from the corner of your eye.
"I got you." Jason whispers. He kisses your cheek. "I got you, babe. You did so good. I love you."
Your tongue is gone, replaced with a stretched-out cotton ball. You can only blink and stare at him. Nothing you're thinking comes out: Now? Here? Like this? This moment, when you're a fucked-out mess, is the one he picks to finally say it out loud.
You stare at him - though he avoids meeting said stare - as he straightens up and pulls himself free of your heat. He swallows, still doesn't look up, attention on the the vibrator as he tugs it free. You wince at the sensation, pussy sore from all the abuse.
"Jason," you say. He helps you sit, unties the satin from your wrists, but still refuses eye contact.
He kisses your cheek again instead, rests his forehead against your temple when he asks, "Do you want me to help you in the shower?"
Your shoulders are sore, thighs aching and loose like jelly. Standing sounds like a foreign concept. "Yeah," you say. "Can we talk first?"
He sighs. "I didn't mean it. I mean, I didn't mean to say it right now. I mean it, I just -"
"Kind of a weird time." You lean back on your palms. Your shoulders give a whine of pain, and you quickly readjust by sitting up. He rests his head on your shoulder, clearly still hiding.
"Pretend I didn't say it," he whispers. "And I promise I'll pick a better time."
"Hmm." You wrap your arms around him, prompting him to do the same, nuzzling against your neck. "Nope. You got to own it now, Jay. You really love me, or are you just drunk off me?"
Jason picks up his head. Your cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, heart racing, limbs numb. Hair tangled. Marks he's left cover your neck, shoulders, breasts. He's not in a much better state, neck equally reddened from your lips, sweat beaded on his forehead.
"I love you," he says. "And I mean it. I'm sorry I couldn't say it before when I first felt it, but I promise from now on I'll say it more often."
A wall has crumbled, given you access to him, even though the timing is a little off. You're not sure how to respond. "I love you too," you say, because that at least means something.
The corners of his lips twitch upward, but he looks down at your legs before you can really catch the smile. "Can you walk? I can carry you."
As if you could refuse that offer. You lift your arms into the air. "Carry me, Mr. Todd."
