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At the end of a long day, somehow ending up in Roy’s apartment. No intention to linger; just one of those things that simply happens.
A long, long day of putting out fires. Called last minute; a Hail Mary, Roy had said. Just another madman on a rampage downtown, with half the team off-world and the other half being very busy, except for Joey who has somehow managed to come down with the flu.
‘’Fever of 105’’, Roy says, and that’s all the explanation Dick gets before he’s jumping into the thick of it.
Not a difficult job when there’s two men on deck. They wrap it up quickly, after which Dick expects them to part ways. Instead the night stretches onwards, one disaster following another, sending them across all corners of the city.
Roy’s mood is often foul, these days. Anger, grief, all those familiar emotions simmering under the surface, writhing under a thin coat of paint. Some days he’s doing better, other days he’s doing worse.
Certain days, like this one, adrenaline keeps him distracted; lifts his spirits towards something resembling a good mood.
(Back to back, fighting side by side, it almost feels like yesterday.
The both of them: ten years younger, much less jaded,
saving the world one disaster at a time.)
Somewhere around midnight, Roy’s smile turns genuine. It’s the worst kind of smile, the one that crinkles his eyes; terrible because it always makes Dick stupid.
Makes him forget, mainly, everything that came before and all that is sure to follow after. Makes him forget that beyond that small, small gap of space between them lies nothing but heartache.
(Difficult to be strong, however,
when Roy turns to look at him over his shoulder as he nocks an arrow,
saying Hey, Wings, watch this—
Each shot hitting exactly where it should with inhuman precision.
Roy, grinning behind his bowstring as he says, yeah, baby. Who’s your daddy?
City lights dancing across his skin, eyes shimmering like gasoline.
His mouth, once more, tilting in that terrible smile.)
All through the night, Roy keeps saying stupid shit like this. One-liners ripped straight from a cheesy ‘80s action movie. Bad puns and jokes he alone could laugh at.
Slapping Dick on the shoulder, or briefly grazing past his lower back. Saying come to daddy. Saying daddy’s on fire tonight. Saying daddy’s coming in hot; saying countless other renditions of the same self-satisfied ovation, impervious to Dick’s tired sighs or the heavy roll of his eyes.
(The worst part isn’t what he says so much as Dick’s reaction.
The worst part is that it fucking works, and out in the field Dick has no hope of distracting him.
There is simply no time or place to shove his tongue down Roy’s throat,
or hell, even slam him up against a wall—)
More and more, Dick finds himself slipping, and all manner of unsightly things start breaking the surface. More feelings better left unexamined rise up, threatening to shatter his carefully cultivated air of cool indifference.
(Refusing to give Roy the upper hand.
Refusing to admit how much power he truly holds,
even if he himself is unaware of it.)
Even when they decide to pack it in for the night, Roy’s mood remains. If anything, he burns brighter as the night goes on; as midnight comes and goes, and Dick somehow finds himself in Roy’s apartment with some greasy boxes of take out.
Then Roy’s cracking open a couple of beers. Then he’s heading for a shower. Then he’s back again, wearing a hoodie and a pair of basketball shorts Dick wants to burn, saying it’s not that late; that Dick’s got blood in his hair and there’s still his dumb organic conditioner under the bathroom sink.
Dick should try to disengage.
Has tried, actually; has tried and failed for hours now, only to get further tangled in Roy’s orbit. Disappointing, then, but far from surprising when he throws his suit onto Roy’s bathroom floor and hops into his shower.
Maybe he could have made it out of here unscathed. Maybe he could’ve blow dried his hair, gotten dressed and headed for the door, said see ya; then gone home to his dark, empty apartment where he could choke this whole thing down, Roy remaining none the wiser.
Maybe. But that’s not how it happens, and so it is useless to think about. Likely all of this was doomed from the moment Dick stepped back into the living room and Roy looked up, startling at the sight of him.
Like a stupid fish caught on a hook; his mouth falling open, eyes carving down Dick’s body, an intensity to his person as from a live wire. Still riding the high of adrenaline, or, perhaps, about to come down and looking for a soft landing.
‘’Is that my shirt?’’
Stupid question to ask, seeing as it’s obviously too big, and Dick would never in his life listen to Gruntruck. Not only is it Roy’s shirt, but Roy’s ugly red sweatpants, too.
‘’My suit stinks.’’
This is true, but not the real reason. Nothing that would stop him from pulling it on, anyway, and heading on home, except: scrubbed squeaky clean of grime and dirt; of city exhaust and blood, soothed by hot water and steam, Dick’s brain switched off and so his body acted out of habit.
Not sure, standing here now, if this is for better or for worse. Both, probably, because Roy keeps looking at him like he wants to devour him; crack him open and suck the marrow out, until he’s sated and happy and full.
‘’You know,’’ he says, shifting his legs, spreading his arms out over the backrest of the couch in a move that cannot be anything but deliberate. ‘’We did good, today.’’
Knees parting, allowing his thighs to spill out over the cushions. Scooting down just enough for his shorts to slide up, revealing thick, strong muscle. Revealing, also, a smattering of freckles.
Dick is far from easy. In fact, he likes to think of himself as infuriatingly difficult. And yet, he ends up exactly where he told himself he wouldn’t, which is to say: Roy’s lap.
‘’We did alright.’’
Spoken into his mouth, in between lazy kisses. Slow at first, almost methodical; testing the waters, only for the waters to become rapids, roaring and much too strong to fight against as Roy catches Dick’s lower lip between his teeth.
‘’I could feel you watching me,’’ he pants, wet and warm; a rabid dog growl woven through his voice. ‘’Something you want?’’
Nipping along his jaw, loving the burn of Roy’s stubble, Dick’s hips move on their own; tipping over, like a wave folding into foam. Roy grinds up to meet him, strong hands clamping down on his lower back, trailing ever downwards.
‘’I’ve been watching you, too,’’ he says, in a low, husky voice. Too deep to be a whisper, but quiet like a secret. ‘’You’ve been driving me crazy all night.’’
Dick’s hands, in turn, tangle in Roy’s hair. Delighted at the sounds he makes as Dick pulls his head back, exposing his throat; a flushed canvas soon to be made polychrome. Vivid reds and blues; fading into lush greens and ochre over time, before they disappear entirely, as if Dick was never there at all.
Roy keeps talking, throat moving as he speaks, shifting under the rabid touch of Dick’s mouth. Keeps accusing him of playing games of a most Machiavellian nature. Claiming Dick’s been bad, and all the ways such behaviour must be punished.
Saying, breathless and still no less powerful:
‘’Can’t wait to eat you out, baby.’’
Dick shudders, suddenly, violently, pressing closer. Closer than that, until each line of his body slots perfectly into Roy’s, still grinding against him though starting to lose his rhythm.
‘’Gonna make you scream, baby, get you good and ready, perfect to take me—‘’
It’s all so ridiculously trite. Each line, overused and overworked; a song he’s heard a thousand times before, and yet Dick laps it up like honey.
Possibly reading too much into it all, as if Roy’s erotic cliches could hide something deeper.
(Wanting to be wanted, a habit he has never kicked.)
The thing that tips him off balance is not what Dick expected. He can’t even say for sure what it is that Roy says, except it’s probably something idiotic like: daddy should bend you over and fuck your brains out— and rather than roll his eyes, or shutting him up with another sloppy kiss, Dick shudders.
‘’That’s what you want, baby?’’ Roy says then, eyes snapping open, like a dog that’s caught a scent. ‘’You’d like daddy to fuck you?’’
And before Dick knows what he’s doing, his body’s moving on without him, mouth opening stupidly, despicably to say:
‘’Yes, daddy—‘’
Time stops for one terrible, charged moment. Silence swallows the room, pierced only by the rapid beating of Dick’s heart. Twisting, squirming in his chest, caught in a sin for which the punishment remains unknown.
Impossible to tell how people will react whenever this happens. When Dick’s resolve gets weakened to a point where he can no longer conceal himself. Whether Roy will be amused or abhorred; whether he will laugh, or turn away, mouth twisted in a look of disdain as he considers all the many ways in which Dick is broken—
(Whatever this says about him, Dick doesn’t care to figure out.
It is what it is and it’s silly, really, to be worried still — after all this time, after everything they have done to each other, after every horrible side that Dick has revealed to Roy over the years.
It is silly but the fear remains. More than that, it grows stronger, so potent it gains a physical weight, lodging in Dick’s throat where he can choke on it.)
Caught in a terrible state of suspended animation, at least until Roy’s mouth opens on a sigh, his eyes so dark with lust that no light could escape them.
‘’You want me, baby?’’
Bright now, glowing; emitting his very own shine. Roy licks his lips, sneaking his hand into Dick’s hair where he tangles up and twists.
(Too many years, too many times splitting each other open;
few things left with which to surprise him,
a revelation as terrifying as it is comforting.)
All Dick can say is oh, which might be for the better, because any other words would be another tool with which to destroy him.
(But Roy’s hand twists so beautifully, and his eyes cut so deeply.)
Made brave by Roy’s touch. Close to delirious. On the verge of something horrific, Dick is wading over ice not knowing if it will hold. Striking his foot down, then, just to see if it will crack by saying:
‘’I want you, daddy.’’
Drunk on the way Roy trembles, the way he squirms between Dick’s thighs.
‘’I want you,’’ Dick says again, wanting him to do it again; needing, desperately, to see what he can do to Roy, how much power he holds in the simple tone of his voice. ‘’I want you so fucking bad—’’
Roy runs his finger over Dick’s lip, pressing it flat against his teeth. All it is, is bait, laid down to lure his tongue out, humiliatingly effective.
Sucking Roy’s thumb into his mouth, knowing even as he does that there’s no coming back from this. Unable to stop his eyes from fluttering closed. Unable to keep from moaning around him; a deep, warbling sound unbecoming of a human being.
And Roy, evil and cruel and far too clever, presses down on his tongue, his other fingers closing underneath Dick’s chin, pinching him in place.
A dog muzzled, tail folding in between its legs.
‘’Is this enough for you?’’ Roy says, in that wonderful, awful voice. ‘’Is this all you want?’’
He could come, he thinks, simply from sucking Roy’s finger, simply from grinding their hips together; all he’d need to do is move a little faster, to bring that friction to a point of ignition. All he’d need to do is get Roy to press in deeper, far back in his throat, and he could, he could, he could—
‘’Get on your knees.’’
Dick should say: fuck you. Should say: make me. Should wrestle him down and force him to work for it. To prove to him, but also to himself, that he’s not some little thing you catch between your teeth. He is not something to be picked up and put down and made to grovel.
Oh, but he wants to grovel. He wants to grovel more than anything, and this — out of everything Roy’s done to him — is the cruellest act of all.
His knees hit the floor without delay, bone knocking against hardwood. Part of the carpet underneath his feet, scratchy and unpleasant. The view, though, the view is magnificent.
Roy’s thighs, spread on either side of him. Muscles hard as stone, sheltered under soft flesh. Warmth, radiating off him. A smell of cheap soap. A little hint of fresh sweat; of musk and ripe desire.
(Weak, weak, weak—)
Pathetic, vulgar, epicurean and self-indulgent. Thinking an animal cannot be blamed for what it is, as he pulls Roy out of his shorts and swallows him.
‘’Oh, baby, oh, baby, baby—‘’ Hands fisting in Dick’s hair, straining as if wanting to pull him closer; as if wanting to push him down as far as he can go. ‘’Oh, fuck, baby, you’re gorgeous like this. Always so beautiful on your knees—‘’
Mercifully, it becomes more difficult to hear him. Saved by the tolling bell of his own pulse; the loud, loud beat of hot blood rushing through him. Allowing his own heartbeat to drown out the sound of Roy’s voice; the sound of his own and all the horrible noise it makes.
Certain Roy is watching him. Can sense the weight of his gaze. This, too, is scalding; burning hot, hot, hot, like embers on his skin.
Drip of spit down his chin. The awful sound of his tongue. The much worse sound churning in his throat, joined by Roy’s rapid breathing.
Looking up to meet Roy’s midnight eyes — bravely, stupidly — only to want to sink further into their depths.
Gazing upon him: a mistake that cannot be undone.
(Roy’s eyes, like flashes of green fire.
Like light spilling through the sky.
His blushing skin, his glistening throat;
his trachea shifting with a heavy swallow.
Mouth, glossed with spit, parting over a moan.)
Right now, right this moment, Roy has found himself in the seat of a king. Having gained what most people spend a lifetime trying to achieve, which is power.
Dick, in turn, is rendered powerless.
(Worse than that: embarrassed.)
Wondering if Roy knows, truly, the extent of his power. Thinking he must know, or else he wouldn’t wield it so effortlessly. Searching desperately for a way to regain control; thinking that if only he could turn the odds back in his favour, Dick could push all of this back beneath the surface.
Not just knocked off his high horse, but writhing in the dirt. Not just a self-image shattered, but forced to reveal the real face behind it.
And still, no judgement in Roy’s eyes. Only awe, only desire; only warmth Dick doesn’t understand.
(Possible, maybe, that Dick is too much in his own head,
tangled in his own crossed wires.)
No denying the fire in his own stomach, unbearably warm; a desire so strong it consumes him, and the embarrassment only lends it fuel. With his shame, his lust grows thicker, stronger, filling his body until he no longer fits inside it.
But an animal will do what it must, which is to act on mindless instinct. The strongest instinct of all being self-preservation, which in Dick’s case often translates to self-delusion. The paper-thin lie that this isn’t him, and that he can still prove it if only he plays his cards right.
Snapping Roy’s strings is an easy thing to do; sometimes as simple as the right words said in the right tone of voice. Worth a try, at least.
Coming up for air. Coming up to deal a wounding strike. Whispering, decadent and smooth against Roy’s thigh in between soft kisses:
‘’You can fuck my throat, daddy. You know how deep I can take it.’’
Success, though only moderate:
Roy, clenching his teeth. Roy, holding his breath for a long, long moment. Trying not to break character. Trying, heroically, to stay strong. Impressive how he manages to keep it together, jaw clenched tight, hand closing into a fist inside Dick’s hair.
‘’God damn it, Dickie—‘’ Spoken very softly. Half curse, half exaltation. ‘’Now you’re just being cruel.’’
Giving ground, if only by inches. Dick seizes the opportunity, biting and nipping the thin, sensitive skin along the inside of Roy’s thigh. More bruises planted; more starbursts of deep purple and cerulean.
Roy licks his lips, swallowing again. His hands shake as they cradle Dick’s face.
‘’You’re a good boy, aren’t you?’’
Hating how loudly he moans at that. Unable to stop it from happening. Warm now, sweating with not only lust but humiliation— which, at the end of the day, amounts to the same exact thing.
‘’I can be good for you, daddy.’’ Flutter of lashes. Kissing his way to the fold of Roy’s thigh just to lick a long, wet stripe towards his hip. ‘’I could be so good, if only you’d let me.’’
Hands still cradling his head, holding firmly but not hard; a hold easily broken, bringing Dick’s mouth back where it belongs. Roy moves his hips in a careful, careful, almost timid rise and fall.
Something about this gentleness takes Dick by surprise. Not that he thinks Roy would be rough, it’s just— not what he’d expected, is all. Not what he’d planned. Tender in a way Dick has never considered a thing like this could be.
And for some reason he finds himself enjoying it, much, much more than he should; losing what little power he had reclaimed, the temporary victor once more made loser as he melts into the motion.
‘’I’d love to come in your mouth, baby,’’ Roy says. Gasping like a dying man, he moves one hand to gently stroke along Dick’s jaw. ‘’But I’d love to come inside you more.’’
Tap on the shoulder, before Dick’s pushed away. Feeling strangely petulant about it. Catching himself at the very last second on the cusp of a whine. Swallowing down, instead, he reshapes it into a sigh.
Still between his thighs, forced to angle his chin to look Roy in the eyes. Their gazes meet and Dick reels from the impact.
‘’But let’s not rush this,’’ Roy says, ‘’There’s still so much I want to do to you.’’
He pulls his shirt off, giving Dick a clear view of his chest, shiny with sweat and rippling magnificently as he leans forward.
‘’Bend over.’’
It shouldn’t be this easy. Shouldn’t be, but it is. Without hesitation, without question, no longer wishing to fight, Dick turns around and folds himself over the coffee table, making sure to spill out over it in that smooth, mercurial way Roy likes.
Roy wastes no time ripping Dick’s sweats off.
‘’Look at you,’’ he says, breathless, one hand trailing down the back of Dick’s thigh. ‘’Ain’t that a sight for sore eyes?’’
Silence, then, broken by a noise Dick doesn’t immediately recognise; a sound that registers before the physical stimulus can reach his brain.
Then, just as sudden, just as unexpected: a sharp, warm sting in his glute.
Flash fire of pain; brief but brutal. A rapid combustion of dusts and vapours that instantly spreads. Reigniting again with the heavy force of Roy’s palm. Again and again, each slap harder than the last, until Dick’s trembling with it, legs tensing to keep him from collapsing over the table in a display of shameless hedonism.
‘’You like that, baby?’’
Meaning to say yes, managing only oh— if even that. Mostly just that sound again, that throaty, stuttering moan.
His silence is rewarded with another slap. More pain, burning so hot now he barely feels it; skin tingling and sore, and still he arches his spine, offering himself up eagerly and much, much too easily.
Burning up, not just from the pain aching underneath his skin, but the humiliation blooming in his heart, crawling up his throat until his whole body sings with it. It grows, and with it grows desire; one feeding the other in a cycle of perpetual growth.
Roy keeps asking stupid questions that Dick refuses to answer. Partly to feel his palm again. Partly because it makes Roy try that much harder, breathing faster as he clamps down around Dick’s thigh, voice low and darkly beautiful.
Roy will break first. This isn’t hubris, but prophecy. There’s only so many times he can watch Dick flinch away from his palm just to immediately arch back towards it; only so many times Dick can press his head into the crook of his own arm to hide a vulgar moan.
He holds out longer than Dick expected, though not as long as he’d hoped. Then he’s gripping Dick’s thighs with both hands, fingers digging into muscle as he spreads him open wider; planting kisses along his tailbone at first, before slowly trailing down, stopping to bite or to suck little bruises into tender skin. Small, small stings, like bulbs breaking open.
Flick of his tongue, then. Tentative. Pausing to watch Dick shudder, for his whole spine to shiver with the motion.
‘’Fuck—‘’
Getting no further than this before Roy puts his mouth on him, lapping like a dog.
Arching closer, as close as he can; forced to bite his teeth down hard to keep from breaking.
Unable to take it, Dick moves to touch himself under the table, desire grown too fast to bear. Grinding against each touch of Roy’s tongue, desperate and weak of will. But Roy’s two steps ahead; his strong hand closes around Dick’s wrist and brings it to rest against the table, squeezing harder as Dick whines.
‘’Not enough for you, huh?’’ Soft, soft caress of his hand, fingers trailing up the inside of Dick’s sweat slick thigh. ‘’You need something more?’’
Teeth, clenched too tightly to get any words through. Forced to keep moaning, creating a new language made only of soft breaths and whimpers.
‘’You want me to fuck you?’’
Sharp, quick exhale. Another, then; long and wavering, his hand straining against Roy’s unbreakable hold.
‘’Yes, yes, yes—’’ Whispering, unable to finds his voice; unsure it would help him if he did. ‘’Fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me—‘’
‘’Ask me properly.’’
‘’Fuck me, daddy. Need you, need you, need—‘’
He releases his grip of Dick’s wrist, squeezing one before he lets go, then leans in to whisper in Dick’s ear; if whisper is even the word for it, that rumbling baritone of a man drunk on lust and power.
‘’Go get what you need. But be quick. Daddy doesn’t like waiting.’’
Another slap of Roy’s palm, though much softer than the ones before. More like a little tap that sends Dick scrambling.
Searching blindly, he finds the thing of lube in Roy’s sock drawer. All of this happens mostly without him; one moment he is crossing the threshold, the next he’s back in the living room, halfway through pulling his shirt off when Roy makes him stop.
‘’No,’’ he barks, ‘’leave the shirt on.’’
Brief moment of eye contact. Flutter in his chest as understanding cements itself, slowly and beneath the surface. The shirt feels at once heavier and lighter on his skin. The smell of Roy still soaked into the fabric, suddenly becomes much stronger, much more potent, and Dick is dizzy with a feeling he doesn’t want to understand.
‘’Get yourself ready for me.’’
Roy pats the cushion next to himself.
Here is a fork in the road. A point reached at which a decision must be made. Whether he wants to go with it, to allow Roy to sweep him under in his currents, or whether he wants to fight and scratch and bleed.
Dick folds himself over the couch, easily and without hesitation.
‘’On your back. Let me get a good look at you.’’
His metal hand grips Dick’s knee, raising goosebumps along his skin. Spreading his legs as far as they can go, pressing one tightly against the back of the couch while Dick is forced to drop his other towards the floor.
Holding Roy’s gaze, determined not to lose it; undecided as of yet whether he should grit his teeth in stubborn defiance, or part his lips just so. If he should look at Roy through half-lidded eyes, so that his lashes cast shadows down his face, or if he should simply close them and escape Roy’s reverence.
His body makes the decision for him as Dick works his fingers inside himself, head dropping back with a quiet, timorous whine.
‘’That’s it. Just like that, baby. You’re doing so well.’’
Spurred by Roy’s voice; by his soft sighs, his deep inhale. Wanting more, desperately. Much, much more than this. Arching his back a little. Not whimpering, but letting slip a loud, breathy moan.
‘’God, you’re beautiful.’’ Hitch of Roy’s breath. ‘’I could watch you all day. Maybe I should.‘’
‘’Don’t you dare—’’
Incredible, the way his mouth tilts. That terrible, wonderful smile, crooked and warm.
‘’Come here,’’ he says, beckoning with his fingers. ‘’Come sit on daddy’s lap.’’
Still working himself open, his slow and steady pace comes to an abrupt stop. Dick gives him a withering look and Roy instantly cowers.
‘’Too much?’’
‘’Way too much.’’
‘’Alright, alright—‘’
Small huff of breath, almost like a laugh. A sound that always catches Dick by surprise, these days, because it is so very rarely genuine.
Crawling out of his shorts, Roy tosses them — mercifully — out of view. With one less eyesore to contend with, Dick’s heart thaws. Then Roy’s scooting over. Resting his back against the backrest, he gives two quick slaps against his own thighs.
‘’Come on, daddy’s waiting.‘’
‘’Shut up.’’
‘’Daddy’s gonna have to bend you over his knee and spank you again.‘’
Straddling his lap in a motion that’s almost violent. Pouncing on him, more like, as Dick twists a handful of Roy’s hair and covers his mouth with deep, harsh kisses.
‘’Shut the fuck up, Roy, I swear to God—‘’
Difficult to be angry when Roy grabs the lube. More difficult when he slides one hand under Dick’s shirt, clawing at his chest, nails raking through the fine gathering of hair.
Impossible, even, when Roy slicks himself up, tilting his head back to look Dick in the eyes.
Before him: a beautiful canvas of strength. Broad shoulders, wide chest. Hard, thick biceps, billowing with movement. His throat, also strong. Also thick and inviting. A perfect place to sink his teeth in; to dig in and tear.
Dick puts his mouth on it instead, as if there’s any more space for him to mark.
‘’You want me, baby?’’
‘’Stop asking stupid questions.’’
With his other hand busy, Roy moves the prosthetic to grab Dick’s chin, pressing down hard as he tilts Dick’s face towards him.
‘’If you’re gonna be a brat, I’ll treat you like a brat. Is that what you want?’’
The challenge in his eyes is all for show. Dick knows this, and still he shivers with the force of it. Warm hazel turns hard labradorite; a mask of stern reprimand to hide the soft heart underneath.
Whatever Dick wants, Roy will give him. The question, then, is if it’s really all that bad to surrender.
On one hand: the promise of a struggle; of pain and cruelty. On the other: a softer touch. A gentle voice and the knowledge that whatever he wants, whatever he does, whatever he becomes, Roy is here to take care of him. More than willing; thrumming with it.
(The real question, then,
is whether or not Dick can allow himself.)
‘’I’m sorry, daddy,’’ he says. Quiet, velvet voice, though lacking all its usual weight. ‘’I’ll do better.’’
‘’I know you will,’’ cool metal against Dick’s jaw, a touch barely felt. ‘’You’re a good boy, aren’t you?’’
Surge of pleasure, elation rising in his ribs in the gentle, floating manner of a zephyr. A satisfaction that is powerful simply because it is unusual. There is rapture in surrender, if only one is brave — or selfish — enough to grant it.
(The truth is that it feels good to let go.
Too good, which is why it must not become a habit.)
‘’I can be good. I can be good—‘’
If his touch is soft, his kisses are even softer. Dick melts into them, instantly; finding once he’s taken the leap, the fall happens quickly.
‘’Prove it to me. Show me how good you can be.’’
Willing to do just about anything, right now, to prove it to him. Moving like a well trained dog— no, not a dog. A lion, a tiger; something big and wild with sharp teeth, not bowing to the whip but chasing its master’s tender hand.
Roy brings his hands to Dick’s hips, not squeezing just yet, but twitching with the promise that he could.
Dick takes him in his hand, into his body; about to slam down on him, hard and fast, as if he only moves fast enough, Roy will be appeased. He will accept his tribute and shower Dick in praise; in his horrible adoration.
‘’Slow,’’ Roy says, tightening his hold. ‘’Slow, baby. There’s no need to rush.’’
Not even halfway down when Roy stops him completely, clamping down hard now, painfully so, digging right into the muscle of his hip flexors.
Gasping, then. Too stunned to moan, to make any move or sound. Like falling through the ice; water so cold no signal can carry to the brain, rendering the body immobile, heart unable to contract, lungs unable to expand even if only to breathe water.
‘’You take me so well,’’ Roy says, looking up in admiration. ‘’You were made for this, baby.’’
Roy moves him slowly, slowly, much too slow— Too goddamn slow and there’s no point in holding back; Dick whines, loud and long and pitiful.
And Dick can’t take it, anymore. Not with Roy looking at him like this, open-mouthed and bright in as much terror as awe. Complete in his worship, gazing up at Dick like one would trace a comet falling through the sky.
‘’Let me look at you, baby. Turn around’’
Better, Dick thinks. This way, he doesn’t have to face him. This way, Roy can watch him without seeing, shifting from veneration to eroticism. Flipping Dick in his lap, Roy’s still singing his praises, only now he dresses his verse in animalistic vulgarity.
This, Dick can live with. This, he can withstand. Being told how good he looks in brutal, intimate detail; reduced to flesh and blood and bone. Made mortal, again, even if the divine is always hidden underneath.
Then Roy’s pressing into bruises, and Dick feels himself snap in two.
‘’God, you make such beautiful sounds—‘’
‘’Fucker,‘’ Dick moans. ‘’You’re playing dirty.’’
‘’No such thing as a fair fight.’’ Proving his point by pulling Dick’s hair, pushing him down harder on Roy’s lap. ‘’Now tell me how good it feels when I fuck you.’’
Technically, Dick wants to say, Roy’s not really doing any of the fucking. But he said he’d be good— wants to be good, which is the terrifying part. In this fever dream, this mirror maze of a world he’s landed himself in, he wants to be good so much it hurts.
So Dick tells him, in no unclear terms. Still, not enough. Far from satisfactory. Roy wants more, more, more. Always more, and Dick fears that it might be more than he can give.
‘’Don’t hold back.’’ Roy says, one arm wound around Dick’s waist, holding him still, pressed flush and tight together. ‘’Don’t you want to be good for me?’’
Wailing, then. Unable to speak. Not even having to put on a show; it all happens naturally, horrifying in its ease.
‘’Yeah? Is that how you feel?’’
Cruel in his tenderness; brutal in the softness of his touch, kissing the trembling muscles of Dick’s back.
Another wail worms its way out of Dick’s throat.
Merciful, endlessly kind, Roy strokes his hair back, saying, ‘’Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re doing well.’’
For that, Dick allows another cry to slip through. Beautiful, silken, trembling, rising at the end. It hits Roy right where it hurts. He, too, trembles beautifully. He, too, is struggling to keep still.
‘’Good boy.’’ He allows Dick to move again, but his legs immediately give way. ‘’You’re such a good boy.’’
It is an easy thing for Roy to fold him. To move him and shift him and lay him down; flat on his back, struggling to catch his breath as his whole body tries and fails to make sense of everything.
Whether this is kindness, or perhaps just another version of brutality, Roy inserts himself between Dick’s thighs, towering over him, big and mighty.
‘’Fuck me,’’ Dick says, surprised by his own ferocity. ‘’Fuck me, daddy, fuck me, fuck me, fuck—‘’
One kiss, deep and sharp with teeth. One kiss, one moment of reprieve before Roy splits him open.
‘’Oh,’’ Dick says, because that’s really all there is. ‘’Oh, oh, oh, daddy, yes, yes, yes—‘’
More than drunk; incoherent. The words out of Dick’s mouth are the disordered ravings of a madman. Someone who has glimpsed behind the veil and seen what lies beyond. Beautiful things. Terrible things. Things beyond mortal comprehension.
Roy kisses him softly but fucks him hard. Breaking him apart only to put him back together, starting over again with every tilt of his hips.
Dick thinks of the fetch; the distance travelled by a wave, from the heart of the sea all the way until its death against salt licked rocks and beaches. He thinks of light, and how fast it travels; how it crosses distances too vast to understand.
The time it takes for Roy to come back to him. The distance he has to travel before he’s buried himself deep again, spearing Dick through. Before Dick is once more, blissfully, splendidly, wondrously split open, broken down, spread out; rendered aqueous and undefined, easily diluted.
Roy, too, has turned incoherent. Has turned flushed and glistening wet. His arms tremble, one hand folding Dick’s leg back, deepening his reach. The other presses down tight into Dick’s chest, bringing the bulk of Roy’s weight down with every push and pull.
Struggling to breathe. Starting to get lightheaded. Watching the way the light shimmers before his eyes, how it shifts into strange and vivid colours. Then Roy moves his hand, and all the air in the room crashes into Dick’s lungs at once.
‘’Sorry,’’ cradling Dick’s head, holding him close, tucked safely and securely into the crook of Roy’s neck. ‘’I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t—‘’
Dick pulls him in for a kiss. It is shapeless and ugly, more painful than anything, and still impossibly sweet.
‘’You’re good,’’ he says, even as he stumbles through his next breath. ‘’I liked it. I loved it, actually—‘’
Roy kisses him again. He’s not moving, anymore, just bowed awkwardly over Dick’s body, as if afraid to crush him. Stupid fear to have, considering Dick has survived way worse things than the weight of Roy’s body, impressive as he is.
‘’Don’t stop,’’ stroking his cheek, Dick forces Roy to meet his gaze. Forcing Dick, also, to see the way his lashes shimmer. ‘’Don’t stop. I’m okay. Please, daddy, I need you—‘’
Another kiss. Another, another, another. Deeper, wetter, warmer; blood thudding in every vein, lips swollen and tender and bruised.
Then Roy’s moving. Gloriously, blessedly moving. Just as fast, just as hard, but with both hands planted firmly on each side of Dick’s head.
‘’Feel good, baby?’’
No words for this. Just noise. Just the same repeating, undulating whine.
Roy keeps asking the same question, before slipping into more incoherent prose. How good Dick feels, how beautiful; switching between vulgarity and lyricism, a bizarre mosaic of praise, all of it eliciting the same response.
Joy. Terrible, terrible joy.
‘’Touch yourself,’’ he says then, sweat hanging off his jaw like a cluster of tight, ripe grapes.
Dick does, though his movements are sloppy and erratic. Even so, it doesn’t take a lot to break him. Everything has been building, slow and torturous, like static in a cloud. The air is heavy with it, thick, and it would be embarrassing how easily it all releases.
Would be, if not for the way Roy looks at him.
‘’Come for me, baby. Come—‘’
Dick cuts him off with a cry; pain and pleasure woven into one long, long howl, buried in the dip of Roy’s throat. Coming fast, coming messy, shaking through all of it as Roy murmurs softly into his hair.
‘’That’s it, baby, that’s it.‘’
‘’Keep fucking me—’’
Gasping uselessly, unable to care; more than willing to beg. Scrabbling for purchase on Roy’s arms, on his heaving, rippling back.
‘’Keep fucking me, daddy. Don’t stop—‘’
‘’You sure?’’
‘’Yes, I’m fucking sure.‘’
Roy buries one hand in his hair, twisting hard. Leaning closer, pushing him down with the sheer weight of his body, Roy stabs into him again. Harder, faster; pleasure wonderfully close to pain. Or, perhaps it is the other way around. Hard to tell with every sensation blending into one, throbbing mess.
Howling again. The sound of a wounded man; a dying man. A man shedding his mortal form to become something greater, something much, much brighter. Broken down into light, into photons, wavering through impossible stretches of time and space.
Strike after strike after strike. Whole body tensing, squeezing Roy tight, it is only a matter of seconds before Roy comes, stumbling through it with a shout.
Whimpering, as he collapses. As he presses Dick flat against the couch. Bracing himself enough on his elbows to keep from suffocating Dick completely, instead he provides a reassuring weight.
Heart pounding, sweat sliding heavily down his throat; blinking the stars out of his eyes, Dick disperses like mist.
Ready to float. Ready to rise into the ether. Sucked into the vacuum of space where he could drift forever were it not for the anchor of Roy’s body.
Still panting, still fighting for air, Roy lifts his head out from under Dick’s chin.
‘’Told you daddy was gonna fuck your brains out.’’
‘’Jesus Christ, shut up.’’
He smiles, then, warm and deep and wonderful.
Small, small kisses, travelling up Dick’s cheek. Trailing over the bone just to fall into the dip of his mouth, where Roy lets himself linger.
‘’Such language. Daddy’s gonna have to teach you a lesson—‘’
Dick grabs his face between his palms, squeezing hard.
‘’Shut the fuck up, Roy. I mean it.’’
He huffs at that, mouth quirking ever so slightly.
‘’Are you embarrassed?’’
‘’I’m not fucking embarrassed.’’
‘’Really? ‘Cos you seem embarrassed—‘’
When all else fails, one must resort to the one unbeatable tactic: kissing him, not as hard as before but no less ravenous, made sloppier by exhaustion.
Parting, their faces remain close, lips grazing past each other as Roy speaks.
‘’Man, you made a mess. This couch is new, you know.’’
This close, Dick can feel the way his mouth quirks.
‘’And,’’ Roy says, ‘’we’re gonna have to take another shower.’’
But Dick is far too tired to move, struggling even to speak. Sleep lies in ambush behind his eyelids, moving closer every time he blinks.
Roy sways a little as he gets on his feet, and Dick misses the warmth of him instantly. Something flutters in his periphery, then, and it takes him a while to realise it’s Roy’s hand, stretched out towards him.
‘’Come on,’’ he says, and wiggles his fingers. ‘’Come to daddy.’’
Too tired to slap him. Too tired to say something rude. Too tired to feel anything but the cold of Roy’s absence, desperate to close the distance grown between them. Dick takes Roy’s hand and allows himself to be dragged up off the couch.
‘’That’s a good boy.’’
Even this, small and facetious as it is, sends a ripple through Dick’s blood.
‘’Roy, please—‘’
‘’Hey.’’
Roy pulls him in, pressing him close, planting the smallest of kisses against his temple.
Dick huffs into his shoulder, listening to the sound of Roy’s heart as it thud, thud, thuds beneath his breastbone.
(Here he is, again, pulled into his orbit.
Circling around and around, unable to break free;
drifting ever closer to his centre where he will burn away.)
No harm, he thinks, in circling him a little longer.
‘’I mean it,’’ Roy says, in that quiet voice again, the one that makes everything sound like a secret. ‘’You were good. More than good, actually—’’
Unsure of what to say to any of that, Dick turns his head, catching Roy’s jaw to pull him into another kiss.
Parting, much too soon and not nearly soon enough, Dick allows himself one small smile.
‘’You weren’t so bad yourself,’’ he says, adding as he pinches Roy’s cheek, ‘’daddy.’’