I wouldnāt say no to some dicknighter for the prompts. 21 or 36 would be great.
thank you @gin-draws <3 why not both? hope you enjoy this
21 āwho hurt you?ā and 36 āI think Iām in troubleā dicknighter
M waits in Dickās apartment, bored. He should have been here an hour ago, and M has half a mind to take a door to the station to check on Officer Grayson himself. Mās already washed the dishes, dried them and then found somewhere suitable to put them away, and now heās eyeing off the pile of laundry in the corner. Since when has he become so domestic? Footsteps approach outside the apartment door. The key slides in the lock, M can hear each pin click into place. Heās on his feet and at the threshold by the time the door opens. āHello, officer,ā M greets him at the door and slides his fingers through Dickās belt loops, reeling him in until they are hip to hip, chest to chest.āUh-oh, I think Iām in trouble,ā Dick grins as he closes the door behind him. M presses Dickās back against the wood and looks down at him, a grin tugging at his own lips. āArenāt you always?ā And by the looks of the bruise on his cheek and the split lip, yeah, Grayson is in trouble. āWhat have I done this time?ā Dick asks coyly, through his smile wavers a fraction. Dick knows exactly what heās done, or what has been done to him, more accurately. He canāt hide from M, not really.Mās hand comes up to Dickās cheek, his fingers stroking across Dickās sharp cheekbone thatās currently coloured purple and red. āWho hurt you?ā Anger coils tight in his gut, but he forces himself to keep it at bay. The last thing Dick needs is another fight right now, especially from someone who is⦠whatever M is to him. Casual antagonist-slash-ally-slash-fuckbuddy? Itās not like theyāve talked about this, though maybe they should. āJust some punk. Iām fine, really. Just need some ice.ā He turns away, tries to leave Mās embrace, but M still has one hand linked with the belt loop.āHey,ā M says, cupping Dickās jaw, āletās go back to mine.ā He poses it like a question, not wanting to push. Dick nods, leaning in to Mās touch in a way that ignites arousal in Mās gut. M calls a door, one hand sliding around to grasp Dickās hips. They land in his bedroom, Mās lips sliding across Dickās cheekbone with little butterfly kisses.
āHey,ā M says, two fingers under Dickās chin, tilting his head up to meet Mās eyes. āI missed you.ā Itās been a while since itās been just them, since theyāve had a moment alone where they can just be. Another time, heād be on Grayson like white on rice, but something makes him feel sentimental tonight. He peels Dick out of his shirt, and together they divest each other of their remaining clothing.
Free from his clothes, Dick Grayson looks glorious, his sleek frame toned and tanned. A few bruises, older than the one on his face, scatter across his skin. āI missed you too, ā Dick says, a vision of sincerity, and M melts a little further. Dick reaches up, arms circling Mās neck, and M allows himself to be pulled down for another kiss.They fall into bed, M covering Graysonās body with his own, his weight held up on his elbows. He looks down at Dick, that lazy smile stretching across his lips, and yeah, thatās what Mās been missing. M kisses his way down Dickās jaw and throat, relishing each and every sound he elicits. Thereās a nasty white line across Dickās shoulder that captures his attention. He frowns at it, like it causes him personal offence. In a way, it does. Mās seen it before plenty of times, but tonight it sends something jagged and sharp through his chest. Itās a symptom of something greater, a disease taking over that his enhanced healing has no chance of defeating. Sentiment.
Dick follows Mās line of sight, finding what he was looking at. āTheyāre just scars, M,ā Dick says, through he tugs the sheets up to his chin and rolls onto his side.āI know.ā Itās a lie, of course, theyāre more than scars. Heās seen Grayson naked before, that time in the Russian sauna was just the beginning, but right now, with Dick vulnerable beneath him, shying away from his eyes, it hurts. They fuck with clothes on mostly, a workplace hazard, really. Thereās no better time for criminals to attack then when a vigilante is ready to get their rocks off, and thereās been more than one case of severe blue balls for M because some shitty arms dealer couldnāt wait another ten minutes. So yeah, theyāve been intimate, but far from intimate, if you catch his drift. He knows Dick has scars; heād have to in this line of work. Mās seen a few too, but tonight something about those scars seems different. Or maybe itās something within M thatās changed. He takes the edge of the sheet in his hand, peeling it down Dickās body slow enough for Dick to stop him. Dick doesnāt stop him.
Each mark M sees reminds him of how Dick has been hurt, abused, beaten, and it makes something in his chest tighten. āWho did this?ā M asks, fingertips tracing along a gnarly scar across Dickās lower back. Raised and pink, angry, the scar looks fresh, though M knows otherwise. āWhat, that one? I think it was Two Face.āM leans down, his lips ghosting over the tender flesh. Dick gasps. Itās an odd sensation, kissing the scar, the tissue smoother than the surrounding skin. He runs his tongue over it, just to see, and Dick writhes against the sheets. Another one in the middle of Dickās thigh catches Mās attention, evidently a gunshot wound. āThis Two Face as well?ā he asks as he moves lower on the bed, skipping past that glorious ass with barely a glance. āPenguin. Lucky shot.ā Thereās a hitch in Dickās breath when Mās lips brush the scar. āWouldnāt have happened if you actually wore pants while traipsing along the Gotham skyline instead of fucking tights.āDick rolls onto his back. āI thought you liked my legs?āāI like your legs to be in one piece,ā M grimaces as he moves between said legs. Dick nods, conceding, āyeah, me too.āM knows about the knee injury, can see the way the cartilage is a mess of torn tissue jammed into the joint. He knows it stiffens up in the cold weather, knows that a rub down and a heat pack is the best remedy. The fact that he knows it is quite telling, but he pushes the thought down to continue his exploration. Ā "And what about this one?ā Thereās a slash across Dickās abdomen, the scar thin and well healed. It would have hurt like a bitch, M can imagine. Bitter this time, Dick says, "I think it was one of the al Ghulās. I donāt remember.ā M doesnāt push.Too many scars. There are burns and scars and and roughly healed fractures all through Dickās body. M hates it, hates seeing every mark, every blemish. Heād take it up with Bats, but Dick would have his head for it, and not in a fun way. Besides, he canāt exactly blame the Bat, as much as heād like to. It was, and is, Dickās call, not Bruceās, not Mās, not anybody elseās. So instead, M just sighs and turns his attention to a different scar. āWhatās this one?ā he asks, eyeing a thin, short scar across the lower right part of Dickās abdomen. He traces a finger across the faint line as Dick laughs, āappendix.āM smiles against Dickās hipbone, pleasantly surprised. Not all these scars are from Dickās selflessness, from thugs and kingpins in Gothamās streets. M moves lower, to Dickās knees again, where the skin is streaked with pearlized scars. āThese?ā"The amount of times I skinned my knees as a kid, Iām lucky to have any skin left there.ā He winks at M, a sultry smile on his lips. āSpeaking of me on my kneesā¦ā
M laughs at that, shaking his head. āNot tonight,ā he says between kisses to Dickās thigh, the muscle and sinew quivering beneath his lips. Because fuck it, Mās in love with him, and tonight heās going to goddamn worship Dick Grayson for all heās worth.