Ryuuji, Nightwing RP, part one.

[dice-addict.livejournal.com]

Ryuuji and Nightwing near the end of the masquerade during which Nightwing proves just how much he sucks at explaining things, and Ryuuji is patient with him. And then they have sex. Because they're a lawfully wedded couple with a marriage to consumnate. So yeah, warnings for boykissing/boytouching. The next part is going to have sex, this is mostly worksafe.

As his latest conversational partner walked off, Ryuuji turned to the nearest table, mouth parched. He'd been talking and dancing for most of the night and fun as it was to play the role of gracious co-host, it could all get a little tiring. Rainbow-hued wings flapping slowly, translucent and beautiful, the outlines of his muscles showed up from under them as he leaned over the table to grab a glass of some sparkly red liquid in a wine glass. He wasn't sure what it was, but knew the sparkly drinks weren't fizzy, and red usually meant sweet, so he'd go for that.

Leaning back against the wall, careful not to let his wings hit anything, Ryuuji sipped at the drink and cast an appraising look over the dancefloor and the fringes, keeping track of who was talking to whom, and who was pointedly not talking to whom. The glitter smeared over his hipbones caught the bright lights of the party, sparkling wickled, the glitter on his collarbone having by now spread out a little to dazzle over the very base of his neck and the small hollow there as well.

Nightwing had been over in a corner discussing something – who knew what – with Babs for quite some time. At least, one presumed it was Nightwing. The vigilante hadn't bothered with a mask, and was wearing an exquisitely tailored but rather low-key black suit. The only hint it was a costume at all was a gun (obviously fake – a bright orange water pistol, in fact) strapped to his belt. Well, and at one point he had pulled something out of his wallet and shown it to Babs, who had bust out laughing at the sight. But altogether, a rather plain looking affair.

But now the conversation had ceased, and Nightwing was threading his way through the crowds towards Ryuuji. A few times he wavered, then set his jaw in a determined line and kept going. By the time he reached the wall he was calm and collected – almost suspiciously so, considering who we're talking about here. "Ahem."

"Nightwing?" Ryuuji half-turned and blinked up at him, the green of his eyes highlighted by the dark, mineral-green domino mask that he wore. It was cut high enough to show off his cheekbones, two strands of it arching over his forehead like a tiara, and the velvet materal shaded in different hues where the light hit it, balancing out the fragility of the wings on his back perfectly. Just as well that Mai had made him ditch the original mask and tiara, really. Even Ryuuji was willing to admit that those had been a little much.

Taking in the other's outfit - Ryuuji certanly couldn't disapprove of the clothes on their own - the gamer arched an eyebrow at Nightwing, managing to convey his curiousity in the half pout that curved his lips and the inquisitive look in his eyes, "You're supposed to be in costume..." He glanced at the water gun, and the pout turned into a half-smirk, "Or is this a James Bond outfit?"

"Something like that," responded Nightwing in a rather well-imitated posh British accent, a smirk on his face. He leaned with one hand on the wall, one hand akimbo. A very nicely tailored suit – it didn't hitch up unpleasantly at all. And the shoes were quality. "Nice wings, by the way." It was . . . actually rather difficult to tell if he was poking fun or not. Though the vigilante really never smirked like that. "Are you supposed to be a social butterfly, or something?"

Determinedly casual, he continued: "Whatcha doing over here, anyway? Woulda thought you'd be out there the whole night, enjoying your guests. It's a good turnout. And nobody's tried to kill anyone else. Yet, anyway."

Taking another appreciative look at the suit - so much better than the spandex, and Nightwing looked something close to dashing in it - Ryuuji smirked at Nightwing, eyes suddenly alight with mischief and deadpanned, "Actually, I'm a fairy."

Cue a pause, and the smirk turned into a wicked, impish grin. "No, really. I'm dressed as a fairy, and Mai came as a butterfly so that we'd offset each other."

The question about why Ryuuji was loitering in a corner made the boy shrug, wings lifting and falling along his movement, and the glitter on his collarbone catching the light to blaze up even more brightly. "I was enjoying the crowd, but then I got tired of it. I figured that I could take a break, drink something to recharge, then throw myself out into the masses."

He quirked a hint of a smile at Nightwing and asked the other boy casually, "Besides, I could ask the same of you - I haven't seen you on the dancefloor for quite a while, so I take it that you already had my idea and are now about to once more hurl yourself into the fray?"

"A fairy," responded Nightwing, in tones of someone fighting the urge to laugh. "I knew I should have weaned you off of eyeliner before it got too late." Whereas he was, if he did say so himself, the height of masculine debonair. Unconsciously, he stretched a little, lean lines extenuating. "Still, it looks hot, in a way."

As if he hadn't just suggested Ryuuji was attractive (even in rainbow wings), Nightwing continued, "I'm not really one for this sort of thing. No offense to you, of course. But I spent too much time at these kinds of parties of thing as a kid, so they've never held much attraction for me." He tugged the toy gun out of its holster, twirling the trigger around his finger.

"So I was thinking I would just bum out soon, but I thought I should say hi first." He started playing what looked vaguely like a bag of hackeysack with the watergun, bouncing it from one shoulder onto the opposite elbow and then to a knee.

Ryuuji wouldn't have minded if Nightwing laughed; he'd set it up as a joke, and hey, Nightwing had a nice laugh anyway. Still deadpan, Ryuuji suggested, "I don't think it's the fault of the eyeliner, but we could always try an experiment where we put you in eyeliner and see if you grow wings."

For emphasis, he flapped his wings again, light filtering through them to change the color of the wall behind him as if the appendages were made of stained glass. The compliment made him blink, then half-smile, even as he started to privately wonder how much Nightwing must have had to drink to be uninhibited enough to say that. Maybe the reason that Ryuuji hadn't seen him much so far was that Nightwing had been at the Ravenclaw bar?

Eyes following the path of the gun, half-expecting it to turn out to be a watergun and to end up getting squirted in the face, Ryuuji mock-pouted at Nightwing, "What, are you saying that my utterly amazing get-together in the honor of Fillerbunny is like any dull mortal party? So unfair. I bet your parties never had magical wings; I can

fly with these babies."

Casting him a sideways look, Ryuuji added with a laugh, "Take it back, and I'll give you a lift back to your room, even. It'll support our weight easily."

"Eyeliner and an expensive suit? Seems like a bad combination," said Nightwing, still idly flipping the waterpistol around. "I'd make the tabloids' worst dressed list." Unlikely – it was a very nice suit – but there were appearances to keep up. "Besides, putting on eyeliner would be letting you win."

He spun the trigger around a finger, then nimbly landed the toy back into the holster. "And it's not a bad party, it's just not the kind I really go for. This is going to sound strange, but I've never really liked masquerades. It feels too much like business, you know?"

At the moment about the wings being strong enough to support both their weights, Nightwing shot them an odd, considering look, and then caught Ryuuji's eye for a moment. "Are those things magic, or technological? If I do this –" he leaned forward to skitter a finger lightly along the edge of one "- can you feel it?" His expression was quite composed, but, judging, from his voice, the subject was fascinating.

"Hey, I've paired them up before and not gotten any complaints." Ryuuji protested laughingly, then added with a flip of his ponytail, "Then again, I'm me. I could probably wear a paper bag and make it look good. Not necessarily comfortable, but good."

Pause, and Ryuuji smirked for a second, casting Nightwing an amused look from under his eyelashes, "And what's so wrong with letting me win? You know it'll happen eventually."

With a quick nod, Ryuuji showed that yes, he did understand, reaching up to his face as if to peel off the mask, shaded so dark that the green almost black at the moment. The touch to his wings made him pause though, Ryuuji giving Nightwing a curious look, fingers poised so that they pressed against the very edges of the velvet creation, "They're magic. I mimicked the charms on brooms to create them - and before you say anything, I can control these much better than brooms- because River wanted working wings as well. But I'm feeling that like I'm under an anaesthetic - I know you're touching them, and I feel it but it feels detatched, because I didn't want to end up having sensitive, exposed appendages in the middle of a crowded dance floor. It would have been impractical, y'know?"

"Probably," agreed Nightwing, thoughtfully. "But it would look awkward on me. Besides, James Bond doesn't wear eyeliner." A point up for debate, depending on which Bond you picked.

"And I'm not gonna let you win because it's the principle of that matter," said the Gryffindor, smirking back. "I can only think of two circumstances where I'd willingly wear eyeliner."

He ran his finger along the edge of the wing again, more slowly this time. Respecting personal space? What's that? "Oh." There was a note of . . . disappointment, perhaps? in his voice. "Still, they feel nice. Kinda like how a moth wing feels, if you touch it." Voice a little distant, Nightwing commented, "I once went to an art gallery where they had a display of huge photographs of moth wings. They're amazing up close, you'd never guess; incredibly colorful." Thoughtfully, he added, "The photographer turned out to be a homicidal maniac, but it was still pretty cool."

"Depends on which Bond you're thinking of." Ryuuji was half-surprised that Nightwing just accepted his assessment of himself so easily, having expected a teasing remark in return about how Ryuuji's ego was overinflated, but kept his tone teasing and light, even as he went back to wondering how much Nightwing had drunk.

The smirk made him arch an eyebrow, Ryuuji deciding instantly that this was more interesting than Nightwing's drinking habits, and he asked the other instantly, "Two? Do tell."

Letting Nightwing do that, despite the odd sensation, Ryuuji bit back the temptation to offer to discard those wings and let real wings popout. Dragon wings. Because he knew how to do that, and he'd feel them alright (fuck, would he ever) and dragon wings were just cooler than fairy wings in general. Except coming as a dragon or anything close to it would have been flaunting, and Ryuuji was trying to keep that part of his life secret, after all.

Instead, he gave another laugh, light and carefree, and made the wings shake near-unnoticeably, a mere quiver under Nightwing's hands. "Why am I not surprised that your story eventually goes back to homicidal maniacs? It's kinda like with Oz and how all his stories about his old school involve danger of some type."

"I'm thinking of a Bond who doesn't wear eyeliner," responded the vigilante, dryly. He didn't sound drunk, or move like alcohol was in his system. And yet: "Anyway, the ones who did pulled it off okay, like you do, but that doesn't mean I could."

"Anyway," he continued, "I'd only wear it for a case, or –" he paused a little, and then continued, maybe a tiiiich too evenly, "if it was gonna get me sex. And none of your 'girls would hit on you if you wore it', I'm talking absolute assurances that wearing makeup equals getting fabulously laid. Because I do have my dignity, you know, and I'm only gonna sacrifice it if the reward is good."

This was probably not the conversation to be having while still in physical (if somewhat subdued) contact, but he kept his fingers on the wing anyway, brushing lightly over the fragile looking membrane, touch deepening slightly at the quiver. "I gotta be me, homicidal maniacs and all. And, heh, he and I oughta get together sometime, exchange stories. From what I've heard, his life is even weirder than mine is."

"I am a style maven." Ryuuji said firmly, deciding to stick to what he knew, "And if I say that it'll look good on you, then it will."

Starting to wonder if he could fake an undercover mission that required help from Nightwing that needed Nightwing in eyeliner but not drag, Ryuuji shrugged, wings pushing up against Nightwing's hands he did so, and replied lightly, "And sex is worth sacrificing your dignity for? Man. I give you a month before you turn into Kira." Not that Ryuuji didn't like Kira and all, just that he tended to worry about exactly how desperate the guy was. Laughing, a slightly wry smirk touching his lips, Ryuuji added, "And hey, I'd have sex with you if you wore eyeliner. Dead cert there." Actually, I'd probably have sex with you even if you weren't wearing eyeliner, but both of us already know that.

Not really counting it as physical contact because it wasn't if he'd been born with those wings, Ryuuji repeated the small movement, making it more of a shiver this time, drawn out and continuous, like a short series of vibration. Deciding

not to mention that he could probably tell Nightwing stories as well, Ryuuji pulled a face, "I'd tell you to do it now, but he's out of Hogwarts. Werewolf, remember? It's that time for month for him."

"It's been," said Nightwing, mildly, "a long time since I got laid. Forgive me if my thoughts have been on the subject a lot lately." He let that linger for a moment, beforce continuing, in a more humorous strain: "Besides, I think we've established in the past how far I'm willing to go for the sake of making my partner happy. I seem to recall you commenting on it in the middle of a busy French square, in fact." He sounded surprisingly unannoyed about it, for once.

The hand on the wing traced down the edge, briefly brushing where it was jointed to Ryuuji's back. The touch didn't linger – it could have been an accident. "I forgot about that. Anyway, I just said he and I will have to talk sometime, not tonight." His fingers traced down, stopping just before hitting skin. A little distantly, Nightwing added, "I have plans for tonight, anyway."

What, no protests of being straight? No eye-rolls?

....Right. Ryuuji was now officially worried about Nightwing. Maybe the drinks were spiked? Except a lot of them were already alcoholic, so why bother spiking them? That just seemed ridiculous. Eyes narrowing a little, slightly wary, Ryuuji shrugged and teased lightly, "Uh-huh. And that has nothing to do with Babs showing up, of course?"

He couldn't stop his eyes from flickering over Nightwing's shoulder to the girl in her hovering wheelchair; Ryuuji liked her, but he'd been waiting with dread for Nightwing to lower the boom and announce that he wanted to divorce Ryuuji to marry Babs instead. Or annul him. Like a parking ticket.

Refusing to dwell on that, Ryuuji instead blinked at the mention of the 'busy French square', a brief flush of red staining his cheeks for a second. Hadn't they been not discussing that?

...Yes. Very, very worried about Nightwing.

The touch to his actual skin made his wings shudder with the force of Ryuuji's attempt to stop them from slamming back - hidden under his wings as they were, Ryuuji hadn't had anyone make contact there tonight, and even normally, that wasn't really skin that he exposed for public touching. And since the spell that bound the wings to him had left the skin there feeling more sensitive than usual... He bit down on his lower lip, then tilted his head to a side, forcing himself to smile and pay attention to the conversation. Genuinely curious (as always), Ryuuji inquired playfully, "Oh? I'm guessing that means my offer of a lift to your room is null and void then. Anything interesting you're plotting?"

"She isn't my Babs," said Nightwing quietly – a little sadly. "I like her plenty, and I don't think she'd turn down overtures, but . . . it's different, you know? I don't know if both of us wouldn't end up frustrated because we couldn't give each other what we want."

And then he looked Ryuuji straight in the eye, letting his fingers slide down to bare skin for another brief instant. "Anyway, I've been thinking . . . maybe it's time I stopped chasing after some unattainable ideal. This Babs and me – it's a bad idea. Bruce . . . even worse. I've been thinking about what Terry says is gonna happen to me, you know? And I'm wondering . . . if maybe it's time I stopped ignoring what I already have got, and stopped focusing on things that only make me frustrated and disappointed."

Suddenly, he took his hand off the wing, shifting away from the wall and sliding his hands into his pockets. "My plans for the evening? I dunno about interesting. Right now, I was thinking of getting some fresh air on the balcony." In carefully absent tones, Nightwing offered: "Want to come with, or do you need to go charm your guests some more?"

Ryuuji's eyes softened, understanding what Nightwing meant by that. Not wanting the other to be sad, he reached up with his free hand to touch Nightwing on the inside of the arm, near his elbow - with Nightwing's arm outstretched and exploring the wing, it was easy for Ryuuji to just lightly make contact, a subtle reminder that he, at least, was there. Even if he wasn't a fiesty redhead. Who licked guns. Or maybe that was just a Mystique thing and not a Babs thing. Babs probably didn't like guns, considering what she'd told him.

The mention of Terry made Ryuuji's eyes widen slightly, especially since it was in a positive context. Taking a few seconds to be inwardly glad that the two of them seemed to be getting on better, he canted his head to a side and smiled slightly, giving a faint nod and trying to stop his wings from folding together to expose his skin. Because he kinda liked being touched, and if Nightwing was in need of a hug and worried about crushing Ryuuji's wings, this would make do. "I think he's probably right; why think about the things that make you unhappy ifyou have something more cheering to focus on?"

The invite to the balcony didn't come off as odd to Ryuuji; after all, they were having a fairly serious conversation and even though he didn't think anyone was paying attention, better safe than sorry. With a reassuring smile, he gave the room a quick, summary glance, then commented lightly, "I don't think that all hell will break loose if I leave for a little, and I've charmed most people here already. Fresh air would be good.”

"Then let's go." Nightwing didn't – heh – dick around about it; as soon as he'd said it, he was walking towards the balcony entrance, expecting Ryuuji to follow.

It was lovely outside; a little colder than inside, with a slight breeze blowing, but the full moon hung in the sky and illuminated the grounds below. They had it – momentarily, at least – to themselves, so the Gryffindor headed for the railing instead of veering towards a more secluded corner. The reason was quickly apparent; shrugging off his jacket, he launched himself up, turning an elegant flip. Sure it was a ways down to the ground, but he (rarely) fell. And what was life without some risks?

After showing off a little, he plopped down on the rail, sitting facing the doors with his legs dangling. "Listen –" there was a distinct note of hesitation, but he plowed on determinedly, " – I actually kinda wanted to talk to you. About something."

Making his way to the balcony without any difficulty, despite the crowd, Ryuuji fluttered his wings shut as soon as they were out, folding them together so that they were invisible from the front. He watched Nightwing's antics with a slight, amused smile, used to his friend's inability to stay still (after all, it mirrored Ryuuji's own), and stretched just a little, pushing himself up on his tiptoes and then letting himself rest down again, rolling his shoulders to stretch those as well. The wings weren't heavy, but they were there, and that was odd enough to keep Ryuuji aware of them even while they were folded back.

Coming forwards at Nightwing's statement, used to having the other be hesitant about things, Ryuuji stood in front of the older male, the glitter on his body barely visible under the faint light of the stars and full moon. He tilted his head to a side, the mask not slipping as he did so, and gave Nightwing a small, comforting smile, the corners of his lips barely turning up. Pleasedon'tletthisbehimdecidingtoannulme. Trying to squash that thought, because

this was about Nightwing, not him, and if it did turn out to be about him, Ryuuji was going take it like a good friend, Ryuuji told Nightwing softly, "I'm listening."

In other words, go on. Ryuuji could deal. Really.

Nervous tension knotted itself in Ryuuji's stomach, and he reached up to play with one golden earring, the other hand stuffing itself inside one of his trouser pockets.

"I . . . look. I've been thinking, and I've come to a couple of conclusions. We kinda dropped it with everything that happened afterwards, but Terry and I – I guess you deserve to know the thing we fought over was you. Because it really got to me when I found out that you and he –" In confession mode or not, Nightwing seemed to consider even enunciating what Ryuuji and Terry had gotten up to distasteful, and dropped the sentence. "What I mean is, I was really jealous. Wanting to drop him off the side of a building without a grapple jealous."

Biting his lip, he push himself up into a handstand again, walking carefully along the railing as he continued. "And I've been kinda wondering why. Not why I was jealous – I already know why – but why I've been so passive about this. I mean, I've always dodged around the question a little, because I was always afraid that people would jump to conclusions about Bruce and I, and I got really fucking tired as a kid having people assume I was some kinda cute little fucktoy, but –"

Nightwing plopped back down into a seated position, rubbing at his temples. "I'm not going about this the right way."

Okay. Well.

Um?

Thoroughly confused, Ryuuji couldn't help but feel just the tiniest bit pleased that Nightwing had been jealous. Or maybe more than 'just the tiniest bit'. Because it was flattering, and it was proof that Nightwing did care, even if it was only I-married-you possessiveness without anything behind it. And Ryuuji was used to taking what he could get.

Tugging at an earring, he watched Nightwing walk along the railing on his hands, having no fear for his friend, and continuing to listen. Wait. He's been thinking about being passive about what? The sudden topic shift confused Ryuuji but he didn't interrupt, figuring it was best to let Nightwing get it off his chest and he'd figure it out as the other kept talking.

Except then Nightwing interrupted himself.

Walking over, Ryuuji helpfully put a hand to Nightwing's forehead, still standing, and rubbed lightly as well, more to show willing than to actually get rid of any headache from being upside down like that. Carefully, he asked, "Going about what? ...And passive about what?"

Nightwing wasn't feeling much clearer about the situation than Ryuuji was, and he had initiated it. Closing his eyes when Ryuuji touched his forehead, he concentrated for a long moment on the feel of it, then gave himself a little shake and forced himself to get on with it.

Wryly, he said, "Babs told me I shouldn't be formulaic and just give you a bouquet or a box of chocolates, but I'm really wishing I had given myself some predictable old traditional method of –" tiniest pause, and then, in a rush: "- of seducing someone so I wouldn't have to rely on my not terribly impressive powers of explanation."

Lonnnnng pause.

"Which I guess would be my roundabout way of asking if I can kiss you."

During the long pause, Ryuuji was struggling not to laugh. Because Nightwing had a fragile ego, as he already knew, and it would be very, very cruel to laugh at him. Even if half of the urge to laugh was definitely bubbling up from sheer shock. Because Nightwing had thought this over. And asked for help from Babs. And he'd been struggling, and was hopefully over the whole 'straight' thing, and he wanted to kiss Ryuuji. And he wasn't drunk, and even if he had been drunk, that wouldn't have explained the planning that went into this, and maybe, just maybe, Ryuuji would get to have one kiss with Nightwing that wouldn't be declared as invalid afterwards.

One kiss he could think of without feeling guilty-bitter-angry-hopeful.

Licking over his lips without thinking, Ryuuji tilted his head to a side, and the hand on Nightwing's forehead slipped down to curve under Nightwing's chin, Ryuuji cupping the other's face and tilting it just a little more upwards. Completely unable to resist the temptation to tease him just a little further, the gamer murmured, "One condition."

Pause. Ryuuji wanted to make sure Nightwing was thinking of eyeliner.

"You don't ever say that it didn't count."

Nightwing totally was thinking of eyeliner. Of course he was thinking of eyeliner. And deeply, passionately regretting having ever made that comment earlier.

. . . Of course, it could always turn out to be something completely non-eyeliner related.

". . ." Suddenly, he grinned, an exuberance as much in his eyes as anything else. A hand snaked around to the small of Ryuuji's currently bewinged back, landing with a little more confidence than the second-quick touches earlier. "Circus brat's honor. I will never, ever say it didn't count, or that I didn't initiate it, or that I didn't want it."

And with that, he brought his other hand up to his friend's shoulder and tugged him down, then kissed him.

Ryuuji practically fell into the kiss, having received the reassurance that he needed. The butterfly wings flared open, flat against his back, and the moonlight shone them to hue Nightwing in pale pastel colors, not sparkling the way that they did inside when under the ballroom's bright lights, but shimmering lightly instead, like in a dream. Hyperaware of everything (Nightwing's hand on his back, calloused, rough, strong, and a flash-moment-memory of Nightwing saying he liked Ryuuji's back and shoulders), Ryuuji sighed into the kiss, not unhappily but blissfully. Any thought of it being an imposter like Mystique or Tonks had disappeared the second Nightwing's lips touched his; this was too familiar to be fake.

Fake things weren't perfect; plastic surgery showed. And there was nothing plastic about this, nothing mechanical or artificial. This was simply a kiss that had been delayed too long, that had been pushed a little further into becoming every time they spoke and touched. This was what those other kisses should have been, and though Ryuuji wouldn't take any of those back for the world, he wished that this one had come first.

Determined to enjoy it (Nightwing might chicken out of wanting more, he only asked for one kiss), Ryuuji let his spare hand rest on Nightwing's hip, some part of his mind absently making sure that he wouldn't crush the expensive material even as he slid his other hand off Nightwing's chin, over to curve around the nape of Nightwing's neck. He toyed with the soft hairs there, the feel of them against his fingertips unforgettable, and licked the inside of Nightwing's mouth (no alcohol this time to mar the taste of other male, this was pure Nightwing), and kissed him like it was the first and last time both; like they had all the time in the world to take it slow, and as if Ryuuji never wanted the kiss to end.

Unlike the previous incidents, there was no particular urgency in the way the Gryffindor kissed; it was slow and thoughtful, affectionate, exploratory. This wasn't a honey-driven bit of helplessness or drunk recklessness, and he kissed in a way that made perfectly clear that he knew exactly what he was doing, and was quite content with the decision.

It wasn't as if he hadn't had plenty of time to make up his mind.

Drawing Ryuuji closer, he pulled back just enough to nibble delicately on the other's lower lip, then murmured, voice a little muffled by close contact, "Do you have to stay at the party?" Just in case the message wasn't clear, Nightwing drew him a little closer, the hand on Ryuuji's back tracing figure eights on the bare skin, rough rasping on smooth, while the older male pressed a light kiss to the corner of the other's mouth. "Or . . . can I have you to myself for awhile?"

With a slightly self-mocking tone, he added, "It's not rushing. Considering."

Oh man. Nightwing wanted Ryuuji to leave with him. Ryuuji knew what that meant. Giddy, suddenly feeling the urge to hyperventilate, Ryuuji fought for calmness and won, only the pure joy in his eyes giving away the sudden euphoria that Nightwing had caused. The feel of Nightwing's hand against his back made Ryuuji shiver repeatedly, eyes falling half-closed as he pressed a soft kiss to Nightwing's lips, biting gently in exchange for the light nibbles Nightwing had given him.

Fingers still stroking over the back of Nightwing's neck, Ryuuji tried to actually think about Nightwing's question. He was the co-host. He really ought to stay. Ought to be responsible. Ought to make sure everything would continue to go well. Ought to - ought to-

Ought to remember that while virtue was all very well, hedonism just plain rocked.

And this wasn't rushing in the least. They'd known each other for five months, and Ryuuji had known he'd wanted this for a month, at the very least. And they were married. In a sense, this is what should have happened if they hadn't been locked in a jail cell. Delayed wedding night. And if Nightwing wanted to get rid of him afterwards, it would need to be a divorce, not an annulment.

"Mhm..." Ryuuji hummed against Nightwing's lips, pulling away enough to lay a soft trail of them from the other's soft mouth to his ear, where Ryuuji nibbled at the curve of it delicately before whispering with just a hint of mischief underlying his words, "I think that they can manage without me 'for awhile'."

That was, assuming he ever made it back to the party after whatever Nightwing had planned. And Ryuuji hoped he was right about what he thought it was.

Nightwing had absolutely no intention of letting Ryuuji so much as leave his bed until morning, if he could help it. But it had seemed impolitic to say 'Hey, baby, I've decided to finally get over my silly issues, so let's go and screw until our brains fall out and we end up missing everything we have scheduled for tomorrow morning because we're so blissfully exhausted.'

Not that the Gryffindor had scheduled anything for the following morning. He really had planned this out a little. Admittedly he had considered pretending to be Mystique and trying to get a little of his own back with the mindgames, but – well, there was the chance (albeit slim) that doing that might have cost him getting what he wanted, and he really hadn't been kidding about how much he'd been thinking about sex lately.

So there were some practical issues to keep in mind, when he was planning and debating how creative to be.

"Mmm," he purred, enjoying the nibbling. "That feels good. I want," a bite to Ryuuji's shoulder, followed by a light kiss, "you to do that everywhere on me." Tugging his friend – lover? He would have to consider the terminology update later – into another kiss, he broke it off seconds later to murmur, "Then let's go make our apologies and get to my room, before I give into the temptation and strip naked right here." An affectionate nuzzle. "I've been thinking about it."

Ryuuji would be more than happy to fulfil that wish of Nightwing's, especially if the other male kept kissing him like that. Licking over his lips, eyes practically shining with glee, Ryuuji stepped back reluctantly, a smile curving his lip prettily. Another step, and Ryuuji slid the hand on Nightwing's hip down his thigh, pressing down firmly as he did so, and then scratched lightly at the back of Nightwing's neck lightly, like with a cat before taking that hand away as well.

Mock-thoughtfully, dropping his voice to a conspiratoral whisper, he pointed out to Nightwing with sheer devilry in his eyes, "You know, going back to apologize would take time. And look suspicious. Especially if we leave together."

Cue a wicked grin, slow and sensual, "I'm thinking we should just skip that step."

That said, he wrapped one arm around Nightwing as he stepped forwards, and placed his other hand on the railing, vault-falling over and dragging Nightwing with him. The thin, fragile-looking wings started beating overtime, fluttering back and forth quickly, and they fell for only a meter before they started to hover instead, then swooped upwards. Both of Ryuuji's arms were tightly wrapped around Nightwing now, one going under his arms, the other crossing it and grabbing Nightwing's hip; Nightwing was held close to Ryuuji, and Ryuuji had no intention of dropping him as they soared towards the Gryffindor tower.

His plans for the night - admittedly, while not consisting of more than a general idea of lick-suck-kiss-fuck in whatever order seemed best, repeated as necessary - would definitely be set back if Nightwing became a squished mess on the ground.

Nightwing hadn't been looking forward, exactly, to the Knowing Grins they were likely to be getting (with a dash of What, He's Willing To Sleep With Some Guy Who Wears Spandex But Not ME? glares in his direction) but he hadn't quite expected to be –

- er, plummeting to the ground.

Of course Ryuuji didn't let them fall far, and Nightwing had been in this position often enough in his life to not panic particularly, but he still would have appreciated a warning. On the other hand, he was (with any luck) about to break his dry spell, so all he could bring himself to do was complain, without much heat: "Could you have maybe warned a guy before you pushed him off a balcony?"

He curled up into Ryuuji's grasp, and not just because it was the safest thing to do under the circumstances. "Mm. I suppose those things aren't strong enough to – nah, nevermind, I think I want a bed, anyway."

"But then I would have lost the advantage of surprise." Ryuuji replied with a light lick to the side of Nightwing's neck, just above the collar of the white shirt. It was a good shirt. Well-tailored, nicely cut, expensive fabric. Even if Nightwing had poor taste in crimefighting outfits, Ryuuji couldn't find anything to complain about as far as the shirt was concerned. Very good shirt, really. Ryuuji approved of it highly.

...Ryuuji wanted to see it on the floor of Nightwing's room. Along with every other article of clothing that Nightwing had on.

They swooped upwards, the night air cool against Ryuuji's glitter-flecked skin, and the moon shone down to silver through Nightwing's hair, strands of light against the black that shifted deceptively as they flew ever higher. Nightwing's aborted question drew a smirk from Ryuuji, the younger boy tightening his grip on him, "We can try that later. If you don't mind worrying about people practicing Quidditch, gods out for flights, people with levitation suits, and anything else that tends to hang around the airspace of this school."

It was a good shirt. (Alfred had bought it.) But while it was comfortable, indeed sensual, against his skin . . . Dick was really, really looking forward to getting it off. And the lovely tailored pants. And everything else, preferably. Briefly, he regretted choosing fabric which wrinkled, but – well, it wasn't like he was going to be doing his own laundry.

"Hey, the risk of getting caught is half the fun. I once –" the sex story he was about to tell was abandoned in favor of craning his neck as Gryffindor Tower approached. "Oh, hey! Here we are. See the window on the left side of that gargoyle? Mine is the next one over. I left it unlatched, so it should be pretty easy to get in." (It ought to be noted he left the window unlatched as a matter of habit, not because he was expecting an aerial entrance that evening. You never knew when Tim or someone else might want to pop in for a chat.)

"I could make a pun here about easy access, but I won't." Ryuuji remarked dryly, taking advantage of Nightwing's craned neck to drop a kiss there, latching his teeth on to the skin and sucking lightly. Nightwing-skin! It was practically a delicacy. Which reminded Ryuuji that Nightwing had a lot of scars on him. And Ryuuji intended on tasting every one of them before the night was through, taste-lick-suck-bite and remember. He knew Nightwing's body from spars already, knew how the muscles flexed and gleamed under the sun, the interplay of nerves and flesh; he knew how it felt to have Nightwing bent backwards over a table, shoved up against a wall; and he'd know soon how it felt to have Nightwing in a bed, sprawled out and open and there for as long as needed.

No rush. No heated need, no wild desire. Just the knowledge of Nightwing in his arms, easy conversation that didn't detract from the fact that they were planning to have a night of mindblowing marital (and that was a really weird adjective to use) sex, and a window that Ryuuji easily opened and stepped through, ducking his head slightly as he did so. Nightwing's room was tidy, almost to the point of being spartan, and Ryuuji didn't have any trouble heading straight to the bed, still carrying Nightwing. He dropped the other on the the bed, wings still fluttering weakly behind him, then sat down next to Nightwing, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him close into a soft, warm kiss, just to reaffirm that yes, this was real.

Nightwing was glad as he had never been glad before that he had the room to himself. "Mm." He was really enjoying this kissing thing. Not that his thoughts weren't straying to the second and third courses, but . . . he could definitely deal with making out for awhile. Especially because it gave him an opportunity to get his hands on Ryuuji's back again, even if running his fingers down the spine was slightly more difficult with the wings in the way. Still, he had always loved a challenge.

But before they got any further, there was one little thing that had been bothering him . . .

"You know," he murmured, pulling back just enough to be audible, forehead resting on Ryuuji's. "We're gonna have to figure out what you're going to call me. I draw the line at being called 'Nightwing' in bed. Unless my costume is involved." Even as he said it, it occurred to him how hot Ryuuji might look in the Batsuit . . . maybe he could talk Terry into loaning his version. Beg him. Bribe him. Blackmail him. Something, because damn if that wasn't a nice thought.

"Mhm..." Ryuuji licked over his lips, and pressed forwards just enough to lick over Nightwing's as well, his ponytail falling to one side of him to create a dark curtain. His spine tingled pleasantly where Nightwing touched him, and Ryuuji arched against his fingers without thinking about it, wings twisting and bending out of the way, the soft edges of them brushing over Nightwing's inner arm.

He shifted while thinking, climbing over to sit on Nightwing's lap, legs stretched out to either side of Nightwing and bent slightly at the knee. Wriggling a little to get comfortable, he pressed another kiss to Nightwing's lips, and wrapped both arms loosely over Nightwing's shoulder. Glitter sparkled darkly all over his body, golden and green, and Ryuuji didn't think about why he was marked in such bright shades; his attention was on trying to answer Nightwing's question.

"Risou. That's Japanese for ideal." Another soft kiss to Nightwing's lips, because it was somehow very reassuring to be able to lean just that extra bit forwards and kiss him without getting pushed away. "Or Kage. Japanese for shade." His fingers rubbed against the back of Nightwing's neck, undoing the ponytail and stroking through the long, soft locks, Ryuuji letting his fingers graze over Nightwing's back through the white shirt. "Kanzen, maybe. That's perfect. Perfect as in perfectly complete or whole." He kissed Nightwing again, soft and affectionate, no real rush but just an introspective contemplation of what Nightwing was to him, and what he'd be willing to call the other. What sounded right. "And there's always Komori for 'bat', but I don't think that of that with you. I just think of you."

Pushed away, hell – Nightwing was leaning into it, putting a little pressure on Ryuuji's back to push him closer. It was freeing, really, to not worry about it anymore. He'd had a month and more to have his freakout over the issue; it was time to just deal. Because dealing was nice. "Mm." The wings were like a strange cherry atop a sundae – even though he knew Ryuuji couldn't really feel much of it, it was hard to resist the urge to rub his hands on the wing membrane, then trace around where skin met joint. (Were they hollow? He presumed so.)

Oh, right, he was trying to have a serious conversation, wasn't he? Bad Dick, getting distracted. "Mm," he said again, this time more thoughtfully. "I don't know how 'ideal' I am, much less 'perfect'. And . . . . yeah, no, 'Komori' would make me think about Bruce all the time." And Dick really was going to try his damnedest not to, and not to think about Babs, or Tim, or . . . well, really pretty much the entire family. It seemed unfair. "Maybe Kage. Though I do like how 'Risou' sounds."

A little teasingly, he commented, "I don't know why you can't just call me 'Dick'. It's a venerable nickname in English, you know. And it makes even the most mundane sentences entertaining, if you're in the right frame of mind." Nightwing was fond of his real name. Sure, it sounded like an advertisement, and sure it lent itself to jokes, but - well, he sort of enjoyed that, really. It seemed appropriate, somehow, given his love for puns.

"If I called you Dick, I'd be giggling like a twelve-year-old every time I said it." Ryuuji pointed out lightly, the rubbing against his wings causing him to shift not uneasily but as if it was hard to stay still. He wasn't feeling it much, yeah, but it was kind of like getting a backrub through scar muscle, when you felt pressure but the actual nerve endings weren't responding. Odd. Not bad-odd, just odd-odd. With a light laugh to underscore that, Ryuuji let his free hand shift to the button of Nightwing's shirt, fingertips leaving smears of golden and green glitter against the white fabric as he undid the buttons slowly, one by one and taking his time about it.

Torn between watching Nightwing's eyes (they were just so fucking pretty, soft blue and clear and bright and pure), his lips (Ryuuji kissed him even as he spoke, words dissolving on his tongue and sliding into Nightwing's mouth), and the skin that was slowly being exposed, Ryuuji settled for taking his hand out of Nightwing's hair, resting it on a shoulder instead and pushing lightly to hint that Nightwing should lie down.

They were still seated on the edge of the bed, and as much as Ryuuji trusted Nightwing to not randomly push him backwards onto the floor (though floorsex was fine with him as well), he'd prefer something slightly more stable. Besides, he liked the idea of having Nightwing lying back on the bed, just waiting to be undressed, all stretched out and pretty and there, for Ryuuji to touch, to kiss, to explore and learn and please. It was a pretty mental image; Ryuuji was sure the reality would be as good.

Softly, he repeated, "Risou." the word melting in his mouth as he kissed Nightwing again, long and slow and languid, as if he was trying to imprint the new name into his mouth, as if word association really worked like that. When he pulled away, he was smiling lightly, pleased with them both. "Yeah. I think that Risou will do."

"It's not that hard to disassociate it from the . . . you know, other meaning," protested the Gryffindor, without much heat. "I mean, my whole family calls me Dick, and –" And even he realized that if he was trying to prove how normal a name like 'Dick' could be, his family was not a good example to use.

Of course, Ryuuji could always sell him on the chosen new nickname with kissing. He was not above that kind of bribe, at all. "I . . . think I'm good with Risou. When you say it like that." Ryuuji could have called him anything and he would have liked it, said like that.

The question of names was settled, but there was something different to think about. Ryuuji was pushing him – he wanted Dick on his back. A tiny bit of worry surged whatifI'mwrongaboutthiswhatifIwon'tlikeitwhatifwebothgethurtbecauseIdecidedtotakeachance, then was ruthlessly quashed. He trusted Ryuuji. Wanted him. And he had let his issues interfere too much already. Still, there was a note of tension in his shoulders as he lay back, blinking up at the Slytherin with an expression of mingled caution and hunger.

Ryuuji couldn't help but quirk a smile down at Nightwing, affectionate and amused. Honestly, he looked so worried - hadn't Ryuuji already proven that he knew what he was doing? Still, if he was going to be tense about it... Ryuuji quickly recalculated his plans for the night, even as he leaned down over Nightwing, murmuring, "Risou" into his mouth once more, soft and drawn-out, like it was a sweet that Ryuuji wanted to make last as long as possible. A soft trail of kisses, wet and gentle, were placed along Nightwing's jawline and then down along the smooth column of his throat, Ryuuji pausing to nip lightly at the other's pulsepoint, biting down just long to feel it flicker against the very tip of his tongue.

The shirt was mostly opened by now, and Ryuuji pushed it to the sides of Nightwing, not bothering to strip it off completely but instead just looking at the way that the crisp white fabric contrasted with the healthy creamy-pink of Nightwing's skin. Softly, still kneeling over Nightwing, Ryuuji told the other, "So many scars - tell me where they came from as I touch them? I want to know what created them for me to touch."

He traced his fingers around them first, nails scraping over the skin, then ran his fingers along the insides of them, where the tissue was deadened to sensation and too smooth. His mouth always followed his fingers though, hot and wet and hungry, biting down over the scars so that his teeth slipped over the edges that his fingers had traced, tongue slowly outlining the scars, pressing against his teeth. A slow, soft suck finished it off, light and loving, like Ryuuji was worshipping and blessing Nightwing's scars at once (heal him, make it better, stop him hurting), and then he'd move on to the next scar, listening to Nightwing all the while.

Ryuuji was taking it as slowly as possible, giving Nightwing time to relax and realize this wouldn't hurt (and gods, it was such a shame that blushing virgin jokes might have made Nightwing pout because were they ever appropriate), and giving himself time to plan out his own moves. Because he could think, even with a mouth full of scarred skin, he could still think, and reason, and plan. There wasn't any burning need driving him, no unreasoning want. This wasn't Terry; this was Nightwing, and the two were so different that Ryuuji didn't even think to compare this slow seduction to the uncontrolled encounters that he found himself having (and he didn't plan it, didn't look for loopholes, just found them and exploited them) because it was just that different. Not even apples and oranges, but apples and chocolates, one wholesome and tasty, the other addictive.

Ryuuji shifted a little more, bare feet rubbing against Nightwing's thighs, and for the first time found himself wishing he had kept some of his scars, besides the hidden one.

He'd have more in common with Nightwing; his scars would be only on his flesh, instead of inside him.
Dick realized, with an oddly pleasant start, that he never had told anyone the stories of where all his scars came from. Bruce hadn't needed to ask; Tim and Babs only questioned the more interesting ones; old girlfriends, unaware of his vigilante work, had been fed plausible lies. The notion of being able to tell Ryuuji all the stories was . . . titillating, in a strange way. Moreso, in a strange way, than the act of having the scars touched itself.

Trying (without much success) to keep his breathing steady, he recited the litany. "That one I got from a drug dealer, when I was fourteen; he had a knife, and I wasn't paying enough attention. Bruce benched me for a coupla weeks after it happened, he was so upset that I'd been careless enough to get stabbed like that." His voice hitched, a little, at the feeling of teeth. "It was . . . probably fair enough of him. It really was stupid of me." As often happened when he discussed Bruce, there was a hint of old wounds in his voice; the external scars were nothing, just part of his life, but the bitterness that he could feel welling up whenever he thought of the past –

- but he was trying not to really think about that, now.

The descriptions continued, one for each scar. Some from normal sounding brawls, some from Gotham-peculiar types of insanity, a few from training, some (and there was something a little melancholy in his voice when he talked about them) from his childhood in the circus. "That one –" a small chemical burn scar, combined with a thin slash from something sharp "- heh, it's actually kinda a funny story. I got that in chemistry class in 10th grade. Most ordinary thing in the world. We weren't paying enough attention, the beaker exploded, and I got acid and glass on my stomach. Probably would have been worse if it hadn't been winter and we all were wearing heavy clothes." His breathing patterns became shallower as Ryuuji progressed downwards, one hand tugging idly on the bedspread.

It was funny how . . . not particularly different it was. Ryuuji's mouth was a little harder than most of the women who had done this sort of thing to him, sure, and it was a little odd to not feel the familiar heavy brush of breasts, but really . . . there was no reason to be tremulous. He made himself relax, feet curling in pleasure at the way it felt when Ryuuji shifted, letting himself let out a small groan.

Ryuuji listened to Nightwing, the sound of the other's voice weaving around the taste of his skin, both familiar and unfamiliar at once. He nipped at Nightwing's hipbone, lavishing kisses on the sharp plane that dipped below the other's trousers, and then sat up properly, reaching up with both hands to undo the deceptively-simple looking ponytail that he'd pulled his hair into. Both fingers slipping through the soft strands, he arched his back just slightly, putting himself deliberately on display, all light golden skin and defined muscles, the nipple ring a maddening winking thing of gold. The hairstyle came free, falling over his shoulders and down his back in loose locks of black, tickling between the base of the wings, and Ryuuji smiled down at Nightwing, beautiful and fey.

"Trust you to manage that; I'm glad you're not in my Potions class. I'd be too busy worrying about you to teach properly." There was a hint of laughter in his tone as he said that, Ryuuji licking over his lips as he twisted around, translucent wings curving over him as he stayed straddling Nightwing's thighs, but reached behind him to undo the other's shoes, pushing them off onto the ground, peeling down the top of Nightwing's socks and expecting him to be able to take care of the rest himself. The moonlight was soft against his skin, stealing the brightness from his glitter and making the specks of gold and green glow softly instead, dreamlike and lovely. His body was slanted sideways, one hip twisted upwards, black leather clinging tightly to the slender hips - Ryuuji hadn't bothered to wear anything under them and right now, he thought that had been a stroke of genius even though it was really just his usual behavior. Why bother with underwear if your trousers were lined with silk to begin with?

He wasn't sure if Nightwing would get spooked again if Ryuuji started stripping so instead, he folded his wings together and turned to look at Nightwing again, a slightly impish smile playing over his lips as he leaned down to gift another soft, happy kiss to Nightwing's lips, feeling rather like a teenager who'd just been given the keys to a brand new car but had to take it for a spin around the driveway before being trusted to actually tear down the highway. Except less impatient, because this was fun too, tasting Nightwing and touching him, and lingering over the foreplay to get Nightwing to relax. It wasn't as if it was solely for Nightwing's benefit; Ryuuji was enjoying it too.

Which reminded him; nipples. Nightwing had nipples as well as good bone structure and really, those had more nerve endings. As long as Ryuuji was playing around with trying to taste every inch of Nightwing, he might as well go say hello to those as well, figuratively speaking. Breaking the kiss, he wriggled downwards, arms folded over Nightwing's stomach and pressed a soft kiss to the left nipple, tracing around the slightly darker aureole with the tip of his tongue before licking over it curiously, sucking at it and scraping his teeth over it lightly. Without even thinking about it, he drummed out against Nightwing's ribs in Morse Code, "Risou."

"Oh, mm." Did Nightwing appreciate having his nipples sucked? All signs pointed to yes, eyes going half closed, the hand still on Ryuuji's back unconsciously scraping fingernails (short, workmanlike – no elegantly manicured hands here) against skin, trailing down to where leather met skin. "Fuck," he swore, voice eager, "do that again."

Even a tich . . . distracted, as it were, he couldn't help but notice how gorgeous Ryuuji's hair was. Better than his (even if he would never admit that aloud), but similar enough that he couldn't help but think of how it would look to have black hair pooled with black, similar enough in appearance that it would take a sharp eye to see which strand belonged to whom. His powers of communication, however, were not up to the task of articulating this thought. When he tried, it simply came out as "God, you're hot. I mean, I – your ego doesn't need feeding, but fuck." The hand which had been gently mauling the bedspread went up to bury into the loose tresses, doing something somewhere between a pet and a muss.

Vaguely, he was aware that Ryuuji was expecting him to remove his socks. Dick was starting to wish he had gone with a costume which involved less clothing; while he was not entirely without his kinks involving getting laid while wearing a suit (he blamed it on James Bond entirely – absolutely nothing to do with Bruce's exquisitely tailored business clothes, of course not) it would have been nice to be in . . . oh, a loincloth, maybe. Or go as Adam in the Garden of Eden, pre-Tree of Knowledge. Still, there was something sensually delightful at tugging each sock down with his toes, the cool air of his room against suddenly bare feet.

What he really wanted was to get these damn trousers off – they were starting to be uncomfortable. But doing that would have required making Ryuuji move, for one thing, and it would have also required him to either grow another arm or free at least one hand from touching the Slytherin. Which Dick absolutely did not want to do. Certainly he couldn't remove the hand now tracing along the beltline of leather pants with a blunt thumbnail, but he could hardly be expected to remove the hand buried in Ryuuji's hair, either. It was quite a predicament.

Obligingly, Ryuuji continued paying attention to the other's nipples, left and right, until they were swollen and saliva-slick. Drawing back, he pursed his lips and blew gently over them, a quick shock of cool air, arching into the hand in his hair, twisting his head to make Nightwing's fingers rub just above his ears, then over the crown of his head, hair too smooth and silky to get tangled.

The strangled, disjointed compliments made Ryuuji smile again, a dangerously soft, pleased smile that he didn't use outside of the bedroom, when slow-coiling lust and anticipation curled around each other like sleeping kittens, claws and sharp teeth hidden for the moment but able to awaken fighting. Voice dropping a little lower into a dark purr, smooth with a hint of roughness underneath it, like gold coated gravel, Ryuuji told Nightwing with his lips pressed against another of the other's scars, "And you're gorgeous, muscle and cream and black hair, like someone grabbed a romance novel and decided to make the hero come to life. Outlaw hero, louche and lovely."

A pause, Ryuuji licking over one of the etched lines of muscle, tracing the dip in Nightwing's skin with his tongue until it hit the center line of his torso. Following it down with his lips, leaving behind a long, drawn-out kiss, Ryuuji paused at the other's navel to drop a kiss there and fight down the temptation to blow a raspberry. Because it would be funny but really, impish pranks? Could wait until after he'd gotten laid.

Wriggling a little against the fingers he could feel along the top of his waistband, glad that he'd gone for a loose pair of leather pants instead of a pair so tight that he'd need to literally peel them off, Ryuuji pressed a light kiss to the top of Nightwing's trousers, lips half on skin, half on cloth. Through the cloth, he nuzzled at the hardness he could feel underneath, then tilted his head up at Nightwing questioningly, unable to stop just a little mischief flickering into his lust-darkened eyes, "I still owe you a blowjob - want to collect?"

After all, that wasn't anything male-male specific. Nightwing shouldn't freak out over the idea of being sucked off, right?

By the time Ryuuji removed his mouth, Nightwing was breathing unevenly, his attempt at calm, steady breaths punctuated by sharp little gasps of pleasure, like commas in a piece of freeform poetry. He couldn't help himself, any more than he could keep himself from arching a little into the feel of the other's lips.

He was slightly tempted to inquire what 'louche' meant; the word sounded familiar, but he couldn't recall the precise meaning. But this was no time to be asking for a vocabulary lesson, especially when it was all he could do to not give into the urge to demand Ryuuji get those damn leather pants on, because the contrast between waistband and skin was driving him crazy; he didn't want leather, he wanted more skin, scarless smooth against the roughness of his palm. It felt sinful to put his callused hands, always scratched and torn and hard, against perfect skin and smooth hair, but that made it even better. This was already maybe a little crazy, in the best way – that they were doing this in the first place, that he was flat on his back like this, that Ryuuji was male (and not Bruce or Tim or or Clark or or or), that he was on the verge of having sex with his lawfully wedded spouse (and that was never going to stop seeming incredibly weird to him).

Twining hair around fingers, he managed to murmur "Fuck I want this I want you, whatever you want to do." He wasn't going to let his issues ruin this, not now, not when he had Babs' blessing (he didn't deserve her, she was so understanding, maybe he should have fought harder to keep the Babs that he knew from his Gotham) not when he knew Ryuuji wanted him. And, he thought, dizzily, I don't think Terry's ever gotten to have this. Which, pettishly, pleased him.

A little more lucidly, he commented (practically wistfully): "I want to be naked."