Your cat is yowling when you finally get home. You can ignore it to bask in the the sweet solitude of your empty apartment after a long day, but when it's soon made clear that he won't be stopping anytime soon, you walk over to investigate.
“What is your deal?” You mutter. He presses his paws against the screen door and scratches ineffectually at it for a couple seconds before you finally start peering into the darkness, trying to root out the cause. It takes a couple seconds but you finally see that someone is passed out on your deck chair. Historically, only one person has been known to stowaway on your balcony but your heart jumps to your throat with trepidation all the same.
You shunt your cat to the side and begin to inch the door open, all the time taking deep breaths. You open it just the necessary amount and steel yourself before tentatively calling out, “Nightwing?”
The figure whips their head around and he responds tentatively “hi.”
You take a deep sigh of relief and place a hand your heart, trying to calm yourself. “You scared me,” you admit breathlessly.
“Sorry.” He looks like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar, blinking at you cautiously.
“Whats up?” You inch the door open wider, its hard to hear him over the sounds of the city below. Your cat squeaks and you nudge him back with your foot.
He answers your question with another. “Is this usually when you come back from work?”
“I had an appointment,” you answer with pause. His appearance at all is cause for worry; you two of you hadn’t met under the best or most normal of circumstances and yet he was still acting oddly. He twisted his head away from you with what looked like effort and didn’t answer for a second.
“What are you doing here?”
There was a lull in the city noises long enough for you to catch his pained intake of breath before responding. “I just needed- to rest-“
“Whats wrong?” You shunt your cat aside with your foot before opening the door wide enough to quickly step out onto the fire escape. The only movement he can manage is to throw a hand over his chest before looking at you with a tentative expression. You gasp, his leg is mangled badly and he’s bleeding profusely from a wound in his forearm but the worst is the rattling in his breath that he no longer cares to conceal.
“I’m sorry, I-“
“Don’t speak if it hurts,” you say burlesquely. You’re mentally rooting through your nurse’s bag while you’re helping him to his feet and setting him onto the couch. He goes down heavily and groans with the movement. You rush to the bathroom to grab your supplies and grab your hair cutting scissors on second thought.
You move to kneel by his head and press a kitchen rag to his gash. “What happened?”
“Some goons go the the jump on me,” he says breathlessly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I could get to the hospital.”
“No, you were right to come here,” you answer hurriedly. “Unless you know any other nurse ex-landlords.”
He wheezes a laugh before wincing. “None as cute as you.”
If you had been fully paying attention you might’ve blushed but you were otherwise occupied. You saw that he was applying pressure to the gash and moved to get your stethoscope.
“I’m going to listen to your breathing.” He automatically began taking taking deep breaths, in and out. It sounded painful but nothing was serious enough to go into the hospital for, which was your primary worry. Next was the arm; you pried his hand off the cloth and cut away the arm of his uniform, feeling bad as for the no-doubt expensive tailor job you did so. You applied rubbing alcohol with a warning and watched his reaction which was to wince and hiss but was muted otherwise.
You felt his eyes on yours as you began stiching up the wound.
You cleared your throat awkwardly. “You’re good with stitches.”
“Does that mean I get a lollipop afterwards?”
You smiled and shook your head. Disbelieving that he could joke at a time like this. “I’ll scrounge one up, just for you.”
There was a pause where you had only to listen to his painful breaths, too close for comfort and much too close to make concentrating easy.
You chucked, “you won’t be thanking me when Fitzwilliam wakes you up in the morning.”
“Oh no, I have to go home.”
You looked up and glared. “You have a broken leg and rib, you’re not moving for anything less than an airlift outta here.”
“I could be airlifted!” He said in a tone that was half-joking half-indignant.
“You ate street dogs on my fire escape,” you deadpanned, “so you’ll forgive me for not taking that seriously.”
“I can’t believe you’re kidnapping me after everything we’ve been through,” he sighed. You knotted the final stitch and began applying the salve. You stared at the expanse of tanned skin as you applied, it was unusual moment of tenderness, one that made you feel as though you were overstepping. He was a stranger, a well-known vigilante and one you knew fairly well, but a stranger nonetheless.
You remembered how nervous you were on first meeting, you couldn’t help but be starstruck by his presence. The leader of the Teen Titans and the Outsiders was perched on your fire escape and asking to use it for a surveillance spot. Not only was he outgoing, friendly, and funny but he was insanely good looking. He was there on and off for two weeks and somehow the two of you managed to become acquainted, even comfortable. You helped out where you could- mostly by keeping him company, enduring his flirting, and providing your passable-cooking skills for a good cause. And now nearly a month later after no word he was bleeding on your couch, petting your cat, and you were about to drug him.
You rooted around in your bag and emerged triumphant with a tiny bottle of Oxycodone, medication prescribed for a surgery that you never used. You fished out two pills and looked apologetic.
“This is the strongest stuff I have.”
“Good, he approved. He pliantly opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue.
“I- you-, this is okay?”
“All a part of the kidnapping plot, I understand.” He gauged your expression before putting on a bright smile and patting your hand reassuringly, “It’s fine, I trust you.” You dropped the pills onto his tongue and watched him swallow them.
Now that the time for flurrying movement had passed you realized how tired you were. You pushed yourself off the ground with effort and yawned as you presented him an icepack for his ribs.
“Can I do anything to make you more comfortable?”
“You can point me to your TV remote.” You rolled your eyes but found it just the same. As he turned it on and started flipping through channels you leaned on the back of the couch and watched the shows flip by. He appraised you with a curious look after a couple seconds.
“See anything you like?”
“On the TV? No.” He grinned, and evidently happy, he returned to his flipping.
How a grown man and vigilante could manage to be so godanmed cute mystified you. Your eyes flickered between the screen and him before it just settled on his side profile, the strong jawline, slight cheek bones, and plump pink lips. The strong column of his neck was barely visible beneath the suit but, like a victorian man catching a glimpse of an ankle, it was enough to feel scandalous. Too much tender and enticing skin was on display, but still far too much was hidden. The lack of light afforded you little more than the faint outline of the muscles you knew were under his suit. You tried to appraise him casually as his attention was on the TV screen and his eyes blinked slowly under his domino but as soon as you turned your attention back to the screen he spoke.
“I would be more comfortable if you didn’t look quite so much you were ready to pounce from above.”
You looked away shamefully and only caught sight of his smirk when he called your attention back.
“Sit with me,” he patted a free spot on the couch but you opted for the ground where you had sat before. His stitched arm was laying latent behind your head but within a couple minutes of some show on National Geographic it was playing with the ends of your hair. Fitzwilliam padded by a couple minutes later, you had to stop her from climbing on Nightwing’s leg, but within a couple minutes he was happily cleaning himself in your lap. As a commercial break began and another program came up your realized how domestic this felt- it had been so long since you had a night like this. Or, at least a part of a night, omitting the rest.
“Be honest, am I your most handsome patient?”
You snorted at the question and smiled mischievously to yourself.
He made a ‘psh’ noise. “I’m surprised too. Is there a story?”
“Oh yeah,” you turned around to look at him and was greeted skeptical eyebrow raise. This encouraged you and with a grin you continued, “I treated him for burns and one thing lead to another… you know all that exposed skin and rub downs and whatnot…” your smile widened in the face of his obvious disgust. “He refused to leave when it was time to be discharged until I agreed to marry him and, well... we’re expecting!” You guffawed before you could even finish after seeing his unimpressed expression.
“Ha ha,” he said mutely.
“You a little jealous?” You teased.
He made another ‘psh’ noise. “Just get some sleep, you animal. You need it.”
You stuck out your tongue childishly but got up just the same, making sure to gingerly move Fitzwilliam off your lap.
“Goodnight,” you bade. He returned it with his good arm.
You watched him until you turned the corner to your bedroom. You peeled your uniform off and seriously considered a shower before deciding the save it for the morning. Hopefully you would have ample time to get ready for work even with the flirty invalid on your couch. Though exhaustion laid you out like a brick, your mind kept you up, turning over the superhero on your couch and specifically the part where you hoped he was thinking of you too. As the numbers on your clock ticked up your anxiety about getting to sleep only heightened. After what you would call a good try you got up for a a cup of chamomile.
Coming into the living room you were surprised that the TV was still on, and even more surprised when a hand stopped you from pressing the power button on the remote.
You gasped in surprise and clutched your chest. “I thought you were asleep.”
“No such luck.” Nightwing sighed and a slight pout graced his features.
“Is it the pain?”
He just shrugged. “What’s your excuse?”
“I don’t know,” you said untruthfully.
“You sure it wasn’t the thought of the vulnerable masked sex god who is completely at your mercy?”
You scoffed. “Your modesty astounds, as does your subtlety.”
“Subtlety can only get a guy so far.” The quip didn’t land. You stared blankly into his face but met an enigmatic expression from beneath the mask. You sighed and straightened.
“Want a cup of tea?”
“No,” he said. He starred at you with a drawn expression before snapping out of it after a couple beats. “Thanks, I’m good.”
“Okay.” You put your kettle on and grabbed your favorite mug. The channel changed and absentmindedly you turned, only to see Nightwing’s head peeping at you from over the couch.
It ducked down. “Changed your mind?”
You turned back to the stove. A draft made you shiver then freeze. You had mindlessly thrown on your pajamas that night, that which consisted of a once-white t-shirt that was fraying and a pair of small sleep shorts that had barely covered your ass back in high school, let alone now. Decidedly not fit for present company. You tried your best to only present your front as you came back the tea and looked forlornly at the blanket that was draped on him after being met with the cold wood floor.
He had caught your gaze. “I’ll scoot.”
“Then you can take the blanket.”
He smiled as you sighed and got to your feet. His torso twisted sideways to accommodate your bulk but on the small couch, you could feel his toned stomach on your back as you sat. The warmth was nice however, as was the musk mixed with a clean smelling cologne. He pulled the blanket back and around the two of you. His arm wrapped around you, shifting you closer in oder to fully drape the blanket over your legs. Thankfully, he didn’t keep it there.
Annoyingly, you felt his gaze on your face. Catching him made no difference, so you gave him a soft flick on the forehead. The second time you covered his mask.
“I might’ve been projecting a bit,” he said offhandedly when you removed your hand.
“Oh? When?” You turned to look at him and was startled by the gloved hand that disappeared in your hair. The texture of his gloves skimmed the back of your neck before traipsing over the slope of your shoulder. The intimacy startled you but you hoped it didn’t look so.
“When I talked about the thought of me out here was keeping you up.”
Your breath caught on your throat, the exhale was shaky. You swallowed and frantically searched for a response, which was made hard with his full attention studying your expression. His tone might’ve been casual but his expression was decidedly not. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” He softly grasped your bicep and started circles on the edge of your flimsy night shirt. You were suddenly glad that his eyes were occupied elsewhere so he wouldn’t clock the goosebumps rising on your legs.
“I might’ve been up thinking about you in the other room. Stealing a peek at your in your sleep shorts, twisted in the sheets. Wondering what you would’ve done if I had crawled under the covers with you.” He said all of this in a slight rush and stopped to lick his lips, his words lingering in the air like an enticing fantasy that never should’ve been spoken. Because now you were ready to pinch yourself, or throw his arm off and lock yourself in your room. Or better yet climb ontop of him and ride him like there was no tomorrow.
The air inside your drafty apartment even on this cold night had turned hot. You squeezed your legs together, just now noticing the heat between them.
“Maybe-,” you started, hesitating, heart thundering in your ears, “you weren’t projecting that much. Minus the sex god part.”
He ‘tsked’. “You think so?”
Your breath caught in your throat. “…I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you find out?”
This came out in a rush, a frantic exchange, but time seemed to you to slow when his hand slipped down to the crook of your elbow and tugged. Suddenly your face was inches from him and he could no doubt feel the hummingbird beat of your heart on his chest. Your head screamed that this was a bad idea, that only bad could come from a meaningless hook up with a person who wasn’t meaningless to you at all- but your lips were locked to his like a magnet in seconds and the sensation, like fireworks going off, silenced the logical part of you.
That confident smirk, the smooth voice, the long luscious hair and adonis body. All the things his body and his words made you feel, made you do, made you want to do came to the forefront. You crushed your lips to his, licking the chapped surface and nibbling at the sweetness. He responded by opening his lips; the petals of a flower opening, blooming, when your tongues slid together. He tasted like nectar, addictive. He moaned when you sucked on his tongue, so you did it again, harder.
That seemed to be the natural progression of things between you two. He flirted, you flirted back. He provoked and you baited right back. He nipped at your lips and you bit his back. The kiss was hot and messy, passionate and filled with desires that had long been lurking just under the surface. You tangled your hands in his hair and pulled only for him to emit a heavenly groan. His injuries were the only thing stopping you from ripping his clothes off and exploring the fantasy you had coveted for months. That was where you envied him: you couldn’t get all of him, but all of you would be his by the time the night was up.
You would’ve been happy to let the kiss go on forever- to get lost in his lips and tongue and the little sounds he made. But there were bigger and better things past that. He lifted up his hips, the obvious bulge in his pants filling you with visual pleasure. You adjusted yourself, straddling him and positively ground down, causing you both to moan.
“Goddammit babe.” he moaned.
You moved a delicate amount of weight up and down, slowly over the tent in his pants.
“What was that,” you were cut off with a soft gasp as his hips met yours, “-mmm, fantasy of yours.”
“Well first off, you weren’t wearing anything. But I have a newfound appreciation for the the shorts-“ his words came fast and slightly breathless. “It was a lot of ‘what, oh my god’ and a little bit of ‘what are you thinking’ followed by a lot of ‘ooh, ahh don’t stop’.”
”’Ooh, ahh, don’t stop’?”
“This is obviously preferable.”
“I would hope so.”
You couldn’t ignore the heat coming from your legs nor the desirous and obvious arousal he exhibited. You ground down again, making sure that his bulge aligned with the seam of your shorts. The effect was addictive. Rivets of heat flooded to your core as he threw an arm over his eyes as if the sight of you was too much.
“If I cum in my pants, you’re cleaning it up. You know that, right?”
“Sounds like a you problem,” you taunted. You began to bounce lightly; the annoying springy-ness of your couch suddenly seemed to have some benefit.
He endured it for less than a second before getting indignant. “You have some nerve torturing your patient, lady!”
You rolled your eyes but removed your weight just the same. You adjusted; still straddling him, you put your hands down by his head and merely shifted your weight to hover over him.
“It’s not my fault that you’re getting all worked up over a simple make-out.”
“Au contraire,” he surged forward to give you a peck. “I’d say the fault is all on you.”
You leaned down to give some attention to the small patch of collar afforded you. Pressing coaxing kisses and harsher pressure when it came to your teeth and lips. He responded by cupping your ass in one hand and slithering up your shirt with the other. While the surface of his gloved hand was disappointing when it came to your usual modes of contact, the slightly rough texture encasing his hands lended itself nicely to the sensitivity of your nipples. You breathed harshly through your nose as his thumb circles the sensitive area.
“Hold on.” Guessing his aim, you straightened again to allow him to slowly peel the shirt off your head. A hand on your stomach stopped you from meeting his lips again.
You were more than happy to oblige. You quickly climbed off and chucked your shorts into the corner. His eyes widened with inches of bare skin.
“You weren’t wearing underwear?”
“No, thank god. It’s not like I wear any of my nice ones to bed.”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Thank god.” His eyes filled with the sight of you moving to straddle him again, chest heaving and your entrance shining faintly in the dark apartment. It was awkward for you to straddle a fully clothed man but the tightness of his suit made up for it. You selfishly dragged your hands slowly down his front, over his pecks, up and down the valley of his abs and stopping at the end of his shirt.
His injuries were definitely a problem.
“I have an idea.”
Wordlessly he took your wrist and pulled you towards his head.
“Straddle my face.”
He looked confused, “oh?”
Every inch of your body spread with warmth at the idea of his lips on your cunt, his delicious body spread out under you like a divine wonderland. Just the act of spreading your legs over his face had you biting back a whine.
He moved his head so there was room for him to straddle and you slowly moved your center until his breath fanned across you cunt. You could feel him smiling as he kissed your entrance. You hissed.
You tried to keep your voice steady. “Perfect.”
He began lapping at your entrance with light ministrations, collecting all of the wet desire on his tongue. Between your legs came a murmur of how wet you were and all you could do was moan in agreement. The sensation had you rigid, experiencing shocks of pleasure with each sweet movement.
This sight of his bulge filled your eyes. It stood out against his front and your mouth watered just looking at how starkly it stood. His hands grabbed your hips on instinct as you leaned forward. His hold on you trembled when your hand ran over the mound.
You flattened your palm and went over the surface again, this time long and languorous. He went back to licking you, now flattening his tongue and eating the area unabashedly, groaning at the taste. His hips bucked unconsciously as you gave your attentions to the area fully, massaging it. The sight and feeling of him needing you was almost as good as the pleasure he was giving you.
You keened when his tongue found your clit. The sound you made didn’t reach your ears but you could feel him grin to hear it. His tongue swept from your center to your clit with smooth and powerful movements. The delicacy he had been using on you worked to slowly increase your need for release, while these harsh movements had you quickly ramping a fever pitch. Your torso twitched and he grabbed a fistfulls of your ass.
"Ride me," he hissed. His tongue straightened and you brought your hips down. Enjoying the sensation was easy, and you began fucking yourself with his tongue, whining at the sensation. He took time you lap your center as you grew ever wetter with the attention. You mewled as he took particular pleasure licking you clean.
He began to flick your clit, eliciting a loud moan from you. Without much warning you slouched forward, making sure to avoid putting your weight on him, and began lewdly licking his clothed erection. You weren’t sure what he could feel of it but judged on the moaning between your legs, he was deriving some pleasure from it. With long, wet, strokes you covered the mound, spurned on by the image of his face buried in you and enjoying the image of you writhing above him.
Your pleasure ramped up to an almost impossible level as he licked your clit faster and harder, oscillating between that allowing you to fuck his tongue. You could tell his pleasure was reaching in tandem with yours as he lifted his hips more often and hands shook in their hold on you. It was hard to continue your attention to him as your pride screamed for you to silence the noises of want coming from our mouth. And soon you couldn’t continue, massaging the area with less control as you felt yourself reach the edge. He sucked your clit once, twice before you came undone with a cry.
It took you a long time to come down and by the time you had he had come with his own hand, finishing himself off while licking your juices off his face.
All you wanted to do was slump forward and lay boneless on him until the sun came up but with a few coaxing words you had turned around and cuddled up to his side.
He was grinning wildly once you had settled into his side and you could only imagine a lazy smile in return. The sight made him laugh.
“Good?” He kissed your nose. You nodded.
“Even… sex-god level?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.” You disappeared into the crook of his neck and that was that.
Upon waking up, the foolish part of your brain was sure he would be gone when you opened your eyes. This, despite the fact that you could feel his warmth, smell him all around you, and the fact that you were practically laying on top of him.
As soon as you opened your eyes a scratchy voice said, “hello beautiful.”
You groaned, and then again as the source of your wake-up call pounced on your back.
Nightwing shooed Fitzwilliam off with his hand but soon the feline was chewing on your hair. You seemed refuge in the crook of his neck once again.
“Looks like he wants a piece too,” the hero chuckled. You felt a kiss being pressed to your head. “Too bad. This one’s all mine.”
You felt yourself blush. “Please don’t fight my cat.”
“We’ll see,” he said cautiously. “Something tells me that he’s not great at respecting boundaries.”
“And what subjugations are you trying to impose on me?”
You pulled away to look at him. With a sweet smile he caressed your cheek and placed a small kiss to your nose.
“Well, for one, if you think you’re getting up anytime soon, you’d be dead wrong.”
That was a rule you knew that you could follow.