Nightwing, Ryuuji - Part II.

[dice-addict.livejournal.com]

Continued from here, part two of Nightwing's and Ryuuji's meeting after the masquerade. Contains explicit male/male sex, profanity and misuse of magic.

...Okay. Wow. Open-ended permission. Suddenly a little dizzy with all the mental images that flooded his mind (Nightwing bleeding, Nightwing stretched out and chained down, Nightwing contorted into positions that really tested the limits of his acrobatic flexibility, Nightwing bound and bruised and so fucking prettily hurt) Ryuuji caught his breath, just to make sure he really was breathing. He held it for a second, pupils having dilated dramatically so that dark green thinly rimmed the liquid black centers of his eyes, and managed to tell the other with a breathless half-laugh, "You... - I'm going to take you up on that. Later."

Not that he was offering any similar promises to Nightwing at the moment. He still remembered their long, long talks in Paris about sexual kinks; Ryuuji wasn't quite sure he was ready to undergo some of the things that Nightwing found arousing, though Nightwing could probably talk him into it. With kisses. Kisses were very good bribes.

...But so was nudity and hey, if Nightwing wanted to be naked, Ryuuji had zero problem with that. White teeth flashed in a quick, devilish smile, the look in Ryuuji's eyes suddenly wicked, and without bothering to undress the two of them properly, Ryuuji just banished their clothes unceremoniously to the Shadow Realm, both pairs of trousers disappearing instantly as well as whatever Nightwing might have had on underneath them. Now nude, Ryuuji took a long, slow look down Nightwing's body, wandering down it with his gaze along, drinking in the sight of Nightwing's outstretched body hungrily, taking in every last detail - every scar, every line of hard muscle, every slight difference in how his skin shaded.

Redred tongue darting out for a quick second to lick over his lips, Ryuuji smiled down at Nightwing again, that quick flash of bleach-white canines bright against the darkness, "You're beautiful." His hands ran over Nightwing's sides, fingertips smooth against the scarred skin, and he rubbed over Nightwing's hips lightly, both as if to reassure himself that Nightwing was real and to calm the other of any doubts he might still be having.

He hadn't thought to remove his wings yet, and they still fluttered behind him, slow and lazy, the beat of them thoughtful, one flap for every seven beats of his head. The moonlight filtered through them in dream hues, pale and soft and glowing, and the mask over Ryuuji's eyes now was closer to black than green in the darkness, though his eyes still shone emerald-bright from within the slits.

Dick, if the topic ever came up (as it was likely to, in some depth, in the near future) would feel very inclined to point out that if he was willing to let Ryuuji do god only knew what to him (and he likely would be; he was, if anything, almost too 'good, giving and game' as a lover), Ryuuji could damn well open his mind a little and try a vibrator. Unaware of where the other's thoughts were straying, however, Nightwing only shot him a slight little smile, more with his eyes (the blue darkened to purplish black in the dim room) than anything else.

Those eyes widened considerably when he was quite suddenly . . . naked. Which was great, of course, but it almost meant he didn't have any time to adjust to the whole change of states, which meant . . . he flushed. Just a little. ". . . I guess that's a way to do that." His cheeks reddened further when Ryuuji started looking at him. Bodily self-confidence was something Dick had, (as evidenced by his complete and utter comfort with being scantily clad in quite an impressive range of situations) but this was subtly different – he felt examined, and even though he had no doubt that he met expectations . . .

Of course, Ryuuji was naked too. Dick had seen his friend in the nude before, in France, but he hadn't exactly been in a state of mind to really pay attention. So he thought he could be excused for drinking in the sight, partially a test to himself (yes, he was most definitely turned on, the other times definitely weren't flukes) and partially out of sheer pleasure. "Fuck," he murmured, in appreciative tones. The hand which had been previously tracing along the waistline of the pants was shifted enough for Dick to slide it up Ryuuji's chest, straying towards the nipple ring. "You're still wearing this," he noted, master of the obvious. "Do you like it, then?" Because he was pretty sure he could get to liking it, himself. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, and he slipped the other hand out of Ryuuji's hair enough to tap on the edge of the mask. "Can I take this off? I – it's just . . ." The wings were a little disorienting, but the mask was almost unnerving, in a way he could never have described with words.

“I didn’t feel like waiting.” Ryuuji responded to the comment on his… unorthodox… method of stripping Nightwing, smiling down at the other and pleased with what he saw – everything he saw. The touch to his nipple made him arch blindly, eyes falling shut for a second and a cut-off, ragged moan leaving his mouth; the nerve endings were still sensitive there. “…” He really didn’t think that he needed to say anything more than that to answer the question of whether he liked it or not.

The glitter smeared over his body as Nightwing’s hands moved over his chest, trails of speckled light left behind his fingertips so that Ryuuji could feel the tiny flecks of metal changing patterns, no longer just clinging to the hipbones and collarbones where they’d originally been placed. Gold-green flicked over his chest now, miniscule little reflections of light and laughter, marring the otherwise perfect smoothness of his skin.

Leaning down, eyes opening again, Ryuuji slid one of his own hands over Nightwing’s, lacing his fingers between the others and teased at the edge of the mask, a soft flush of magic sparkling from the tips of his fingers, green and bright and fizzing lightly, like sticking your fingers into a glass of champagne. The magic broke the wards holding it in place, and Ryuuji favored Nightwing without another quick, mischevious smile. “Go ahead – take it off.”

He flapped his wings lazily, then teased a kiss over Nightwing’s lips, just barely brushing over them and darting his tongue out to lick over the crease of them, “Want me to get rid of the wings as well?” He breathed the words out against Nightwing’s mouth, then pressed another kiss to them, liking the way that the other felt against him, under him.

Skin-on-skin contact, and their cocks rubbed together for a moment, hot and perfect in a way that things rarely were. And because Ryuuji was having far too much with this, and because he had a secret romantic streak that he indulged every so often, it started raining rose petals from the ceiling, appearing out of nowhere to fall on the bed and carpet.

White ones.

And no, Ryuuji wouldn't mind if Nightwing found that amusing enough to laugh at.

Nightwing completely approved of the nipple ring, then. Curious, almost scientifically so, he ducked his head down for a brief moment, replacing fingers with a tongue as flexible as the rest of him. The metal was a strange, pleasant contrast to the taste of skin, and he traced the loop with a pleased expression before shifting back up to press a kiss to the other's mouth, the faintest trace of metallic taste still on his tongue.

The fizzy feel of magic made him let out a quiet sigh, eyes half-lidding contentedly. "You know, I've thought about how useful magic would be in sex – all the sensations you could give someone." Thought about, dreamt about, tried not to focus on while watching the spells Ryuuji threw about so freely. Nightwing still thought of magic as something limited to classwork, not something he really wanted to use everyday – it felt like cheating - but . . . watching Ryuuji always made him reconsider his attitude, a little bit. Especially now.

"No, I like 'em – wait, yeah. Yeah, do. I wanna run my hands over your back," Nightwing told the corner of Ryuuji's mouth. (The rest of Ryuuji would have found the request harder to make out.) Moving his mouth over a centimeter, he continued, more audibly this time, "Wanna run my hands down your spine, like I did in the alley." And, since he had proximity on his side, he took the moment to steal a quick kiss, before tugging the mask gently off, careful not to bring the rough pads of his fingers too close to the other's eyes.

- which proved difficult to do when he found himself starting at the feel of . . . he was not going to let himself get freaked out, especially because it felt nice. Better than nice. Amazing. Moving his fingers down to Ryuuji's chin, he grabbed a hard, hungry kiss.

And then he saw the rose petals, and broke out into breathless chortles.

This time, the moan was closer to a cry, shocked and pleased, Ryuuji writhing against Nightwing, "I- fuck - your mouth-". Apparently it was possible to reduce Ryuuji to incoherence, liquid pleasure flaring along his spine in hot pulses that matched his ragged breathing, heartbeat only steadying once Nightwing caught his mouth in another kiss.

With a snicker of his own, laughing against Nightwing's mouth, Ryuuji drew back to smirk down at the other, amused and affectionate both, lust a hidden undertone to his words, "Hey, you said you were curious about magic during sex." A rose petal fell right past him, Ryuuji's eyes going crossed for a moment as he watched it land on Nightwing's lips, temptingly white and clean, just hinting at the red underneath.

A quick, murmured spell had it coated with a sugar glaze, and Ryuuji bent down to lick at it, catching it in his teeth and crunching off half of it, sweet and tart at once. Still watching Nightwing, he shifted slightly, rolling his shoulders back experimentally and under his breath, recited the charm that would make the wings leave. They glowed for a moment, then dissolved into tiny butterflies that flocked together to fly out of the window in a rainbow of color, having been one-use only but useful. Back bare now, muscles exposed to Nightwing's hands, Ryuuji stretched out over the other, deliberately shifting against him, rubbing down against him while trying to decide what the best move to make would be.

...Well, Nightwing had mentioned being curious about magic so...

Heat flared at his index finger's tip, and he traced over Nightwing's collarbone, calling the blood up to the surface to leave it flushed red and warm. The middle finger was stung into coldness, following the path of the index finger, ice after heat, and the ring finger (did this mean Ryuuji would need to get them rings?) had the fizzing magic aura curl over it, gentle healing magic to soothe the skin more. Triple sensations, too fast for anything to register properly, just heat-cold-dancing magic, and Ryuuji drew his fingers along Nightwing's arm, fingers splayed out to create three nearly-parallel lines and his eyes still locked on Nightwing's to see how he'd react.

"Mm, well, I have a feeling I'm about to get a nice demonstra –" Yeah, okay, Nightwing wasn't really a butterfly man, per se, but it was hard not to be a little distracted by how pretty that sight was. And now he could do what he'd been wanting to do all evening and run his hands where the wings had previously prevented him, relishing every spinal bump and curve of muscle. Idly, he chewed on the remaining half of the petal, pleasantly reminded of Alfred's flower-petal decorated cakes.

. . . Though now he wondered if the cakes wouldn't be reminding him of sex. And wouldn't that be a nice thought to indulge in, during tense family dinners, instead of thinking about how he'd probably disappointed Bruce now, and.

And he was absolutely not thinking about that anymore, because fuck. "Oh, jesus," blasphemed Dick, lovely blue eyes rolling back, eyelashes fluttering. His fingers dug reflexively into Ryuuji's back, nails scraping loud enough to be audible, though scarcely so through the drawn-out, trilling groan. The Gryffindor practically flailed, nimble grace replaced by trembling, inarticulate pleas for Ryuuji to keep his hand there, no, move it to his chest, he didn't care just keep doing that, please please please, breath coming out in little gasps.

A positive reaction, altogether.

Through the fog, he realized vaguely that his nails were leaving long scratchmark trails down Ryuuji's back – all the more impressive given how blunt he kept them – and he tried to will himself into moving them, only managing to shift enough to have one hand clutching at a glittering shoulder, leaving little half-moon marks in the skin, and the other flat (he could feel how his fingers were shaking, it was strangely exhilarating) over the middle of the other's spine.

...Oh wow. Ryuuji's mouth went suddenly dry at the way that Nightwing reacted, all sudden, desperate motion, wanting and out of control. Fuck. That - it was definitely one of the most erotic sights that Ryuuji had ever seen. Apparently it wasn't just spoken words that Nightwing could disrupt, but also Ryuuji's trails of thought. Trains. Something to do with thought, anyway. Ryuuji wasn't even sure he was thinking, the sudden twisting movements of Nightwing's muscled body seeming to imprint themselves in his mind and drive out anything else except an awareness of how sweet Nightwing's voice sounded when he begged like that, needy and gasping and fuck, Ryuuji completely discarded any thoughts of traditional married sex in favor of showing Nightwing exactly what magic could do in the right hands.

The hands in this case being Ryuuji's.

Pain stung at his back, fire-wet trails left by Nightwing's hands, and Ryuuji arched against it, his fingers lifting off Nightwing's skin for the barest of seconds before settling down over Nightwing's heart, palm pressed flat against the skin there.

And Ryuuji switched tactics, his own breathing ragged just from watching Nightwing, leaning down to nip at Nightwing's neck almost playfully and whisper teasingly, "You know, that's not even half of it. I can see your energy. In your blood. I can see where it's collected, where it pools the most strongly and..." He propped himself up on one arm, and brought his hand up to rest against Nightwing's neck, the very tip of his middle finger resting over a lymph node where clear blue energy shone brightly in Ryuuji's eyes. He reached for it with his own energy, touching it gently, knowing that would feel like fire (not painful but hot) licking into Nightwing's flesh, and then a wicked, anticipant smirk curved his lips as he told Nightwing, "And manipulate it."

That said, he twisted, grabbing Nightwing's entire energy system and disrupting it.

Even when Ryuuji's fingers stopped tracing fire and ice, Nightwing was still trembling, staring up at him with lust-blown eyes, the blue darkened almost completely to black. "Ohhh –" Coherent sentences were not in his grasp right now. Instead he gazed mutely at the other, sweet adoration and sticky desire mingling in his expression, earlier nervousness replaced entirely by trust. The whispered remark – promise? - made his breath hitch, body humming with anticipation. He felt utterly helpless, reliant, and . . . loved it completely, relished the sensation like he relished flying. It was flying, in a way.

Manipulate energy? "Wha . . . ohgodohgodohhhh." His words were replaced by veritable howls, limber pretty body twisting like a ragdoll in the wind against the sheets, sleek with sweat and wild pleasure. The hand on Ryuuji's shoulder – almost more in Ryuuji's shoulder now, the way his nails were digging – clutched harder, while the other arm flailed up to the headboard, missed, and . . . in trying urgently to find something, anything to hold on to, grasped too hard on the post and – combined with a sudden jerk of his hips – twisted hard to the right, ending up balanced precariously between staying on the bed and hitting the ground.

Nightwing didn't really care. He was blissfully close, and feeling too deliciously selfish and single-minded to give a damn about anything but how incredible this felt.

If he had had enough brain cells left to form any coherent thought, he would have been kicking himself for not dragging Ryuuji off to bed sooner. Possibly the day they met.

Ryuuji hadn't been expecting quite that enthusiastic a reaction; he'd known that it would send Nightwing's senses into overload but the out-of-control flailing and screaming? Oh yes, that was unexpected. Very, very much appreciated but so very not expected in the least. Screaming. Fuck. Nightwing was screaming and writhing and he'd lost all control of himself and Ryuuji really, really liked that. Probably liked that a lot more than he should, knew he wanted to watch Nightwing writhe and scream and flail and -

And then Ryuuji ended up flailing wildly himself as Nightwing twisted to the right. Having been lying on top of the other, Nightwing's sudden twist sent him falling to the right as well, over the edge of the bed. Wildly grabbing for support, he tried to latch on to the other to get his balance once more but only ended up taking Nightwing down with him, the two of them ending up on the floor in a tangle of cream and pale golden limbs, and dark black hair. Legs twisted between Nightwing's, Ryuuji hurt from falling, and with typical Ryuuji-logic, decided the best way to fix that would be to kiss Nightwing. Because kissing people was distracting, and it would remove any thoughts of the quick jolt of pain that had run up his spine. Hitting the floor with someone else wound around you hurt more than when you could just break your fall. Kissing Nightwing would fix that though!

Leaning up, he did exactly that, wrapping one arm over Nightwing's shoulder to pull him down into a half-pouty kiss. Remembering how Nightwing had reacted to the magic, though, he let power hum behind his teeth, crackling and tickling, and then opened his mouth to the other, smoothening it out so that it was like liquid heat, energy curling into Nightwing and sliding down his throat, infecting his veins and making them hum. Energy manipulation again, but this time controlled, directed towards making every part of Nightwing's body absolutely blaze.

What could Dick say? He tended to enjoy new experiences.

His own head banged rather painfully on the side of the bed, and his legs were likely to get bruises from banging onto the ground, but he was at a stage where seeing spots and feeling the sharp throb of skull against wood was incredibly titillating. And it felt deliciously right to be on the floor doing this. Beds were for comfortable, controlled, normal sex; floors were so much better suited to being fucked by your best friend (no, spouse) with energy as much as touch.

Though he had to admit (or would have, if he had been on that level of rational thinking at the moment) it probably was better for him, since he was cushioned by Ryuuji's body. Ryuuji's gorgeous, lanky, perfect body, which it was impossible not to wrap around like an octopus, flexible limbs strutting their stuff so that Nightwing could feel skin against skin everywhere he could manage. Including his mouth, now, because he was being kissed, and oh fuck the thing that the other was doing, the wonderful tingling fireworks-in-his-brain inferno that was making him shiver and shake and gasp and keen, was even better when it wasn't wild and uncontrolled.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck -

Dimly, it occurred to him that he was doubtless going to be teased for being a quick draw, but he was completely incapable of caring at the moment, and just let go, a surprised little sigh on his lips, sinking willingly into white-out shuddering paradise.

"..." Ryuuji's first reaction was to go wide-eyed and blink up at Nightwing, oddly innocent and lost. Because really, it had only been a kiss! With, admittedly, a fair jolt of magic behind it, but still... And, okay, fine, he'd disrupted Nightwing's entire body before, and tease-trailed him, but still... Way too soon.

Though it was possible he was only thinking that because Nightwing had felt good on top of him, heavy and strong and everywhere, twisted around him and writhing all over him, making Ryuuji grind back just because there was absolutely nothing he could have done. And he didn't mind in the least, and had wanted it to continue. (A few more minutes and he'd have probably followed Nightwing over the edge anyway).

And now he was slightly sticky, still hard and still had Nightwing on top of him. Hm. Oh well! Deciding to make the best of it, now more amused than startled, Ryuuji chuckled lightly against Nightwing's mouth, then broke the kiss to tilt his head to a side, black hair spilling around him like a puddle of midnight. Magnanimously, affection and amusement both twisting around his words and not quite disguising the lust that thickened his words slightly, like honey over a sheet of sandpaper, "I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming that you have a very fast recovery time."

Pause, and Ryuuji licked at the side of Nightwing's mouth, just because he liked the way it twitched when Nightwing smiled, and there was pure devilry in his eyes as he added with a teasing, challenging smirk, "And I'm giving serious consideration to just tying you to the bed next time. With magic. And then showing you all the other ways in which magic is applicable during sex."

"Mmm." Nightwing decided, after a moment, that he really didn't care. He felt hazily perfect, and would have been quite content to simply lie there and bliss – well, for awhile, he was a healthy young man in peak athletic condition – but, well, that would have been rude. And he had been raised to be polite.

"Mmmm," he said, again, stretching into the kiss (quite well aware that it would make his thigh brush against Ryuuji in a very interesting way, hard muscle and scarred skin rubbing in a light tease against the other's dick (he never stopped getting a enjoyably juvenile kick out of using that word). " I haven't really thought about much in the last week except you," Nightwing explained, voice soft and lazy. One finger traced along Ryuuji's collarbone. "What it would feel like to touch you, what you would taste like when we weren't drugged or drunk, whether you would pin me down . . ." his eyes close, briefly, at that particularly wonderful thought. Yeah, he wouldn't be putting up any fights to Ryuuji tying him to the bed.

But . . . not quite yet. "I'm not nineteen," Nightwing noted, amused, "but . . . it's your turn, anyway, isn't it? And I like to be fair." He tilted his head enough to nibble delicately on the lobe of Ryuuji's ear. "Besides –" and clearly sly whispers could be learned, or otherwise he'd been hiding a particular facet of his personality from the other " – I always have kinda wanted to know what it's like to suck someone off."

A quick surge of pleasure seared up his spine, and Ryuuji arched up against Nightwing instinctively, breath catching for a second, and couldn't really quite focus on the other's words. Mind scrambling to try to listen, in case it was important, Ryuuj found himself taken back when his mind managed to actually lock on to what Nightwing was saying. Well. That was certainly... flattering. Amongst other things.

He swallowed at the soft touch to his collarbone, licking over his lips and still listening to Nightwing avidly, eyes fixed on the other without blinking. The mention of being pinned down drew a quick smirk to Ryuuji's lips - hah. He knew that he'd guessed right when he'd thought that Nightwing liked being restrained; if it hadn't been for that, he wouldn't have suggested tying Nightwing to the bed. Though, the floor worked too.

...Fuck. Okay. Floor worked great for a blowjob, especially one offered in that tone. Mirroring Nightwing's tone, Ryuuji leaned up just enough to press a kiss to Nightwing's jawline, careful not to involve magic this time. "Risou?"

And it wasn't really a question, just a way of making sure he had Nightwing's attention, sweet and sly and amused. Laughter overlying the lust that darkened his eyes, Ryuuji told the other with a purr of anticipation, "Feel free to indulge your curiousity."

And afterwards, he could go back to using magic on Nightwing. Because it would be cruel to do anything to him right now, before he'd recovered. Though he was pretty sure that he wanted to test exactly how fast he could send Nightwing into overload. Repeatedly. And how many times he could do that before Nightwing ended up just passing out.

Ryuuji would have reflected on which was weirder, to think of Nightwing as his husband or his science experiment, but he was too busy getting comfortable on the floor, watching Nightwing with a mix of anticipation and appreciation in his eyes, green ringing liquid black thinly.

Dick blamed his childhood. It was difficult to spend that much time being tied up in new and exciting ways (ropes, chains, upside down, to chairs, with plant vines, naked) without developing something of a kink. Besides, enjoying being pinned was so normal it was practically wholesome, like a big bowl of ice cream – which he wasn't going to think about right now, but certainly was going to file away for future consideration.

"Glad to hear you support educational experiments." Now that he actually was on the spot, Nightwing had to admit he wasn't exactly certain what he was doing here. It was a bit different to be on the giving end instead of the receiving, after all. Besides, what worked for him wasn't necessarily going to work for Ryuuji. Briefly, he considered just winging it, but he wanted to make this good, so . . . "Hmmm."

Beating a little staccato rhythm with his fingers over the pulse-point of Ryuuji's neck, the Gryffindor queried, voice amused, "Any tips for the rookie? I think I know the general principles," he pulled away just enough so Ryuuji could see his expression - how could a dirty grin so eloquently express just how many times the vigilante had been pinned against walls, or on couches, or in beds? "But . . . I wanna know what you like." Idly, the fingers drifted down, teasing delicately at the be-ringed nipple. God, Dick loved that thing.

"Um..." Distracted by the fingers at his nipple - how the fuck was he supposed to THINK when Nightwing was doing that?! - Ryuuji panted softly and squirmed underneath Nightwing, supple and eager and really not having the easiest of times figuring out what the answer to Nightwing's question was. Hell, it was hard enough to remember exactly what the question was, when little thrills of pleasure kept sparking within within him thanks to Nightwing's soft touches.

Dilated pupils staring up at Nightwing, Ryuuji managed to gather enough breath - talking was difficult when every inhalation was a gasp and every exhale a soft, pleased, needy moan to tell the other, "No teeth. And-"

Nightwing was so pretty, fuck, he really needed to stop doing that because otherwise Ryuuji would end up losing it, he had Nightwing's come on his stomach and -

"You don't have to swallow if you don't want to." And okay. Anything on pacing or style or technique really wasn't important. Because it was Nightwing, and that kinda overruled everything else, and honestly? Ryuuji just wanted Nightwing's mouth on him right now. Everything else was just details (static) and unimportant. And maybe he ought to tell Nightwing that? Ryuuji licked over his lips, quickly, then drew Nightwing down into another kiss, soft and sweet and careful, letting just a hint of magic crackle between their lips, a quick sting of power. "Anything else is upto you. I just want it to be you."

HAH. At least Nightwing had lost it over having his entire body turned into a wonderful Fourth of July display of heat, not a finger on his nipple! Though he did think he was doing a rather good job with it, if he did say so himself. The feeling of skin and metal together was magnetic, too hard for him to resist the urge to tease a fingernail over again and again.

Instructions acquired, with a kiss – and he was never ever ever going to get tired of that strange flickering feeling, it was rapidly becoming a kink to rival his affection for batcuffs – to send him on his way, he set about slowly working his way down. Pausing regularly to lick and suck and bite (with especially long attention to the other's nipples, because have we mentioned how much Dick enjoyed that ring yet?) he left a winding trail, mouth followed by nimble callused fingertips.

And then he was there, at his destination. All right. He could absolutely do this.

Absolutely. It was just a question of . . . There was absolutely no point in waiting, and it wasn't like a dick (it really really never stopped being funny) was going to bite him.

So he just did, wet heat and agile tongue, his mouth surrounding, besieging in the best imaginable way.

One second, Ryuuji had been watching Nightwing, thoughtfully – the next second, his thoughts had scattered everywhere. Because see, Nightwing’s mouth, and there was this thing he did where he kind of just breathed and he had a really really flexible tongue and hot, did Ryuuji mention hot? Because Nightwing’s mouth was hot, and wet and he was way too good at this for someone just starting and Ryuuji didn’t care if that made sense or not because it felt good and he was losing language even in his head, static buzz and magic crackle, trails of light and color.

And he wasn’t even talking normally, English slipping into Japanese into French into German into Italian into Hindu into Spanish so that he’d start off telling Nightwing how good he was, how beautiful, how perfect in one language, but end in another. And Nightwing did something that made Ryuuji arch, fingers scrabbling over the other’s shoulders, magic sparking with him meaning it to, and he switched languages midword so that it stopped being praise that spilt from his lips and just became syllables, meaning clearer than message.

Head twisted back, the clean line of his throat was exposed, cheeks flushed a dark red and lips stained red, Ryuuji left himself vulnerable to the other, open and exposed and shameless. Because no matter what he could, it wouldn’t measure up to how Nightwing had fallen off the bed (and that would never stop being funny), and he was enjoying this, and he trusted Nightwing and he never, ever thought that Nightwing would do this (for him) and it felt so good. Beyond all words.

Dick was feeling a little more uncertain about this than anyone with his name had a right to, but he knew what he liked having done to him, and it seemed like the principles would be the same. Certainly, Ryuuji's reaction suggested he was managing all right. And seeing the other stretch and twist and talk like that – the languages were familiar, but he quickly lost pace with the myriad switches, and could only focus on the sound of the voice, complimentary and hungry and perfect – was as satisfying, in its own way, as having someone's mouth on him.

It was fun, in fact. Remembering the sorts of things which made him arch and groan when the recipient, he experimented, tonguing the slit here and sucking the head there, fingers braced on the other's hips. It was tempting to just close his eyes and enjoy, hard heat fucking his mouth and making him want to speak in a few languages himself, but he wanted even more to cant his head just enough to be able to see Ryuuji, see the way the other writhed and flushed, see what he was causing to happen.

The tingle of magic made him groan, the sound a muffled vibration that quickly shifted into a sustained hum of pleasure, fingers tightening their grip. Suddenly, he completely understood why it was sometimes better to give than receive.

Gods. Fuck. No. Atheist.

The real problem with being an atheist, Ryuuji thought somewhat hazily as he writhed on the floor, carpet scraping roughly against his back and legs, is that it made swearing midsex really, really difficult. He had the feel that he wasn't making much sense anyway, but it was still disconcerting to realize that you couldn't even understand what you were saying. It was as if his brain had just shorted out completely, and his body had taken control of his mouth instead, and every bit of him was trying to talk at once, every lick of pleasure of pleasure up his spine translating into a gasped breath, every pleasure-flush that stung his cheeks drawing a moan from him.

Magic twisted over his hands, crackling green and bright, distracting flares of bright, uncontrolled color and Ryuuji gripped Nightwing's shoulders tightly, and the energy earthed itself in Nightwing, latching on to his muscles, bleeding into his bloodstream and twisting through him, Ryuuji trying to warn the other that he was dangerously close to falling over the edge because Nightwing was really that good. And language didn't seem to be working any longer, and magic worked, or well, didn't work because how on earth was Nightwing supposed to interpret it but "J'aliebte" didn't exactly count as a warning either, and Ryuuji wanted to tell him something, anything and-

The world flashed into black-white-black, and for a second, the magic pulsed to his heartbeat as Ryuuji arched and came, unable to bear it any longer and everything in him a happy, fierce twist of bliss.

Nightwing had no such problem; he might have been lapsed, but he could still indulge himself in deity-themed swearing all he damn well wanted. Except not right now, because his mouth was very much otherwise occupied. And he really would have liked to blaspheme a little, too, because this merited a few happy curses. (It occurred to him, slightly randomly, that he understood Tim so much better now, no wonder the kid liked this kinda thing.)

And then there was energy, which he was really never going to get bored with, and – he had made enough sounds like that himself to know what was coming, but it still felt like he wasn't quite ready when all of the sudden Ryuuji arched under his hands and all of a sudden his mouth was filled with hot and wet and good lord, suddenly he understood better why most of his girlfriends had avoided swallowing because it was awkward as hell, he was choking a little, but he hung on determinedly because he'd always considered that hot. And he really, almost a little desperately, wanted to be good at this.

Which didn't stop him from laughing, a little, once he was able to pull away. "Wow." His head thumped down onto Ryuuji's thigh, angling just enough so that he could stare up towards the other's face, wide eyed.

". . . I could totally get used to doing this."

Ryuuji would have responded to that, but he was trying to catch his breath. And get his heartbeat back down to something close to normal. And maybe even concentrate on speaking in one language as opposed to whichever one fell into his head. Wide eyed as well, pretty sure that he had a mental image of Nightwing like that permanently imprinted on the backs of his eyelids now, Ryuuji licked over his lips and petted Nightwing's hair gently, softly, stroking his fingers through the black strands in lieu of actually saying anything. A faint smirk touched his lips, fond and surprised and very pleased, then it turned into a flippant grin, amazement still clear in Ryuuji's eyes.

"Wow." He repeated Nightwing's words, and licked over his lips again. He swallowed, and swallowed again, not thinking about it as he did so, still not totally able to believe that all of this was happening because it was Nightwing, finally, finally Nightwing and this technically counted as their wedding night and Ryuuji was pretty sure this was way better than most couple's first times together.

Okay. Speech. He thought he could manage it now. Eyes a little softer than usual, he told Nightwing sincerely, "That was amazing." Pause. "And you're totally welcome to practice me on as much as you like."

Because Ryuuji? Nineteen. Great physical conditional. Hadn't got laid since he'd been at Hogwarts. And Nightwing was his husband. This probably fell under conjugal duty or something. Really. He was practically bound by law to offer himself up to Nightwing, anytime, anywhere. Speaking of offering...

Wicked grin curving his lips, a slow, honey-heavy bliss weighing his limbs down even as he managed to unclench his other hand from Nightwing's shoulder (it would bruise but that's okay, Ryuuji had the best bruise balm in school), Ryuuji added, "And I'm more than willing to demonstrate my own techniques on you. Whenever you like."

...Why did he think that would have him getting dragged onto the roof to suck Nightwing off?

Because it absolutely, totally would. Rooftop sex was Nightwing's favorite.

Plus, there was the added chance that Terry might go up there while he had Ryuuji between his legs, and Dick was petty enough to really appreciate the thought of that. Really, really appreciate the thought.

He lifted himself up enough to squirm along the other's torso until their heads were level and he could catch the younger man's mouth in a long, affectionate (and somewhat sloppy, considering what they'd just been doing) kiss. Pulling away to nibble lightly on the other's bottom lip, then turn his attention to pressing kisses to Ryuuji's temples, Nightwing contemplated, voice hazy with contentment, ". . . I can't decide whether to be responsible and suggest we go to sleep because we have class tomorrow, or indulge myself because I can think of a thousand more things I'd like to do with you."

His body voted for the latter – he was more than half hard already, because he was only in his early twenties – but it almost seemed GREEDY to get so much of what he had wanted for so long in one day. And hey, they were married and everything . . . and it wasn't as if it had ever been RYUUJI throwing out the impediments towards marital nookie happening.

Dick really could kick himself for not doing this earlier.

"I say indulge both of us." Ryuuji instantly voted enthusiastically, squirming just a little under Nightwing, life stirring back to his body again which was currently saying that he ought to make the most of this night. Just in case Nightwing changed his mind about it tomorrow morning and Ryuuji didn't get another chance, Ryuuji fully intended on getting through everything he wanted to do with the other. He had a whole list of positions he wanted to try, and ways to work magic into it, and reactions he'd like from Nightwing and really, the night was almost over already because he'd spent so much time at the masquerade.

It wasn't that he didn't like the slow, lazy contentment of the afterglow, but he could feel Nightwing's hardness pressing against his hip, and hey, it seemed like a shame to waste that. Really. Waste not, want not, and Ryuuji wanted this, and anything else that could happen between them.

Arching his back slightly, a faint burn over his shoulders from the carpet, Ryuuji tilted his mouth into a kiss, not caring how messy it was. He liked kissing Nightwing, and he didn't think that the thrill of having Nightwing kiss back would wear off for a while. Assuming Nightwing kept kissing back, and if he stopped doing that, Ryuuji would worry about it then, not now. Because right now, he had a warm, heavy Nightwing sprawled out over him, and soft, wet lips to kiss (he could taste himself in the other's mouth, and that was a little weird but nothing he hadn't dealt with before from girls), and that kind of tended to kill any worries at all. Hard to worry about future regrets when the present was so pleasant.

By way of encouragement, Ryuuji licked over his lips once he broke the kiss, and bent his head enough to press a soft kiss to the junction of Nightwing's shoulder and neck, "C'mon. It's not like it's going to kill either of us to stay up a little. I'm practically nocturnal anyway, and we have lots of wasted time to make up for."

"You make," purred Dick, stretching sinuously until he was in a perfect sprawl for prolonged, thorough kissing, "a fantastic argument." He pressed into the warm damp feel of lips on his shoulder, one hand sliding around to burrow into Ryuuji's now rather messier hair (and how satisfying was that, to see that well-groomed mane disheveled?) kneading lightly at the base of the other's skull. "I – mmm, I love the way you kiss – think you should start up a debate team."

He would resist the urge to make a master debater joke. He would resist the urge to make a master debater joke. He would, he would!

Seeing no particular reason why not, he launched into another lengthy kiss, this one a little more humid and aggressive than the afterglow-tinged previous. It felt a little odd, in a way, to be the one on top - he was tempted to try to roll them over – but he could deal. He could absolutely deal. It was delightfully freeing to decide you didn't care anymore about whether something was The Kind Of Thing You Did, and just did it.

Besides, a little treacherous voice whispered in the back in his mind, maybe you should take what you get right now – you've got plenty of competition.

"So," he gave a slow, controlled buck of his hips against Ryuuji's stomach, shivering at the electric feeling that shot all the way through his body. "We have all this time to make up for . . . what sorta thing did you have in mind? I've kinda wondered what you think about, when you think of me."

Oh, Ryuuji knew he was good at arguing. It was just that he didn't think that Dick needed much persuasion. Either of them.

...Deciding to ignore the fact that he'd just made a pun in his mind, Ryuuji arched into the kiss, giving a soft, contented sigh once it was over and watching Nightwing with slightly hazy green eyes, like he (still) couldn't quite believe this was real and wanted to drink in every moment of it so that even if it was just a dream, he'd remember it all in the morning. It was somewhat weird to have Nightwing on top of him, mostly because Ryuuji was used to being the aggressor, especially with Nightwing, but hey, this was comfortable, and if Nightwing was going to grind against him like that-

A purr, harshly sweet, rumbled in the back of Ryuuji's throat, and he gave Nightwing a wicked, knowing smirk at his question. Translation of that? 'I love it when you talk dirty to me, baby.' And if that was what Nightwing wanted, Ryuuji was more than happy to oblige, especially since it would give him a window of recovery time. Nipping at the other's shoulder, raising a hand from the carpet to run his fingers over Nightwing's spine, touch light but sure, Ryuuji started out with his eyes practically glittering, tone low and wanting,

"France.. Every time I think about you, I think about the first time, when we'd consumed that honey, and I pinned you over that table, and your mouth tasted like honey and coffee - and I hate coffee but I couldn't get enough of the taste when it came from your lips - and your skin tasted like cotton and salt and you. And you writhed, and I can't decide what's a better thought, keeping you still to fuck you or letting you twist like that - if the fangirls hadn't gotten us, I would have taken you on that table, you know. In front of everyone. And not cared who was watching, as long as it was you under me."

He let his head fall back against the carpet so that he could stare up at Nightwing, willing the other to keep eye contact, and slowly rolled his hips upwards in a deliberate circle.

"And France again, and that alleyway. Because you were trapped against the wall, and I had you, and the way your hips rolled against mine, and how there was just that little bit of your stomach against mine and how your scars felt under my fingers, too smooth to be healthy but too soft to move away from. And how I wanted to taste all of your scars, to lick them like they'd melt, suck them into my mouth like I could swallow your pain and make you better. And how I knew the road was dirty and the air was cold and I didn't care because I just wanted to kneel right there and suck you off, have your hands in my hair, making it messy, have you writhing and squirming against that wall, dirtying that shirt of yours, have you unable to even finish saying my name because I'd make it that good for you."

Ryuuji licked over his lips, just a quick dart of redred tongue over white teeth and kiss-swollwn lips, and pushed himself up a little, mouth right next to Nightwing's ear and dark locks of hair brushing against Ryuuji's cheek as he spoke, "And I think about the way you look when we spar, when you're kind of half-grinning, on the verge of laughing, concentrating and fighting and free, beauty in motion. And what would happen if one day, I just didn't let you get up, kept you trapped to the grass and kissed you, licked the sweat away from the hollow of your neck, stripped you and fucked in the open, with the sun on my back, and the trampled grass under you. Or if we used that blindfold Mystique sent us - if I blocked out the entire world for you, so that the only thing you knew was my touch, and you couldn't know anything except that. No idea where it could come from, how long it would last, and whether I'd use my mouth, or my fingers, or my cock - you'd have no control at all, and,"

Ryuuji pulled back again, lying on the carpet and flashed Nightwing a soft, dangerous smirk, "And you'd love it."

Oh, fuck.

Nightwing had gotten his breath back from earlier exertions, but as Ryuuji spoke it began to speed up again, shallow little intakes of air. It was impossible not to start grinding down, especially when Ryuuji's hips rolled and the vigilante felt a few braincells die a happy happy death. His hands slid downward, only to be frustrated by the aggravating impediment of the floor; he wanted so badly to – let's not mince words here – grope the other's ass, the way he had in the French alleyway, and feel the curve of muscle under his fingers. Fucking floor. So good to give blowjobs on, so good at thwarting his devious plans to feel Ryuuji up.

Well, he was a clever young man. Determinedly, he shifted his weight hard to the right, not particularly caring that he wasn't in a position to keep the roll from kinda hurting his side. And now he was below – it seemed better, somehow, and he did look good on his back, mussed hair (still technically in the ponytail, but only by the loosest definitions) fanning around his face – and he could get his hands exactly where he wanted them, and push up against Ryuuji.

. . . All right, so he may have had some issues with being the aggressor in sex. It was possible.

That particular problem solved, he pressed a hard kiss to that wonderful fucking smirk, a mute acquiescence to Ryuuji's little theory of what Nightwing liked. Because the thought of being unable to do anything but feel was . . . it was something, all right. Just thinking about it pushed him from passingly interested to decidedly hard.

"I wanna do all of that. I want the whole damn world to know we're doing this," Nightwing growled, mouth pressed to Ryuuji's jaw. "I . . . god, tonight I was thinking how badly I just wanted to drag you down onto the floor of that balcony and just strip naked right there, where anybody could see us, because I want you so fucking bad I don't care. I wanna be fucked, I've been stopping myself for so damn long, I just wanna -" He didn't even have words for everything he wanted to do. Just movement, pure and strong and unadulterated.

Now, this was perfect. Midkiss, Ryuuji's smirk turned into a triumphant grin, the gamer instinctively shifting so that he could grind down against Nightwing, a lot more comfortable like this. He liked Nightwing's room, really, but there was only so long someone could be comfortable on the carpet, especially since in his fantasies (and yeah, he'd thought about it, he hadn't been lying when he told Nightwing that he kept remembering what France had been like), he'd been the one topping Nightwing. Because Nightwing practically screamed that he liked being dominated, and that suspicion of Ryuuji's had only been strengthened every time that Nightwing poutily gave way to what Ryuuji wanted.

...Except when it involved sending policeman to the Shadow Realm.

And it was hard to even remember to sulk about that, not when he had Nightwing under him, could reach for the other's wrists and press them against the ground, wriggle and slide his way between Nightwing's legs (all the gods be praised for teen stamina and recovery time), when Nightwing was growling against his ear, wanting and vicious and not holding back in the least. No more lies about how he didn't want Ryuuji (at least for tonight) and no more stopping himself, and Ryuuji felt a shiver of pure pleasure frisson through him at the thought of having sex on that balcony, mask and wings and Nightwing with his hands on the railing to brace himself, and his back to the curtain so that he couldn't tell if anyone was watching.

Part of Ryuuji was sensible; it flickered a warning signal up at 'I want the whole damn world to know we're doing this', reminded him of how many other people wanted him, whispered about a collar and a pendant, a roommate and a robot, and about how, in a way, this was asking for trouble because it went from one extreme to another, and the more people that knew, the harder it would be to deal when Nightwing changed his mind again (beautiful, strong, fearful, untrue to himself). The rest of Ryuuji refused to listen because see, there was this a boy, a beautifully scarred, muscled boy, on the floor, underneath him, wanting to be fucked. Confessing it. Practically begging for it. Saying he'd been thinking about it.

And when it came down to a choice between thoughts and actions, Ryuuji knew which he prefered. Hedonist. Hedonist and hedonism and Nightwing was fucking gorgeous, and Nightwing had climaxed on him and it was easy to slide his fingers through that, smear them slick and use his free hand to keep Nightwing's shoulder pressed against the ground. Except that wasn't quite good enough, so magic flared up again, shadow tendrils of blue-grey-purple winding around Nightwing's wrists and trapping them to the ground, tying them to the shadow that Ryuuji cast over him. Twisting one shoulder down, testing to see if he could slide one finger inside the other's entrance, Ryuuji kissed Nightwing (swift, hard, impatient and anticipant), whispered against his mouth in a tone that contained as much laughter as it held want, "Here. I can fuck you here, take you, finally, and it'll be in your room, and you'll have to think about it every time you're in here, alone. Think about me, and think about this," And he added a second finger, remembering from their talks in Paris that it wasn't that Nightwing was new to anal sex, just to gay> sex, "And think about owling me, begging me to come up and repeat it."

Nightwing was not unaware that he had . . . competition, as it were, and some of it was unfriendly. (And wasn't it just the best thing in the world to brag about, that he had gotten to be first.) And in the morning, he might worry about it. But right now, the little part of his brain devoted to processing that problem was mostly fixated on the sense of victory. Terry hadn't gotten to do this, he was sure of it. And what was the point of beating out the competition if they didn't know that they'd lost?

It was nice to win, even if it might be only a fleeting triumph.

But the feeling of triumph was only the icing on a wonderful cake of sex. Ryuuji was reading him like a goddamn book, (Dick had known he would, had been certain his friend would be a fantastic fuck) and he shuddered eagerly at the feeling of being bound, of not being able to leave even if he wanted to, of being controlled and dominated and trapped.

He loved that feeling (thought briefly guiltily dirtily of all those times he had been tied up for impending doom only to be rescued in the nick of time, and felt dirtier how hot the correlation made him) more than was probably healthy. And look! Here he was with someone perfectly happy to take advantage of that. How could he have been so stupid to fight this for so long, when it was exactly what he wanted?

And then oh fuck, Ryuuji's finger. It burned and made spots dance in his eyes, for a brief and wonderfully agonizing moment (he'd done this sort of thing before, but not recently) but the startled pained gasp had an edge of devotion and bliss. One couldn't be in his line of work if one didn't get off, just a little bit, on the feeling of hurt. He crooned at the second, torso bucking helplessly against the restraining shadow, hips jerking to push the fingers in deeper. "Fuck," Nightwing hissed, voice a little delirious. "Just like that, fuck, want you in me, burning me up, now."

And what Nightwing wanted, Nightwing, got, right?

The smirk that twisted at Ryuuji's lips was viciously pleased, Ryuuji pressing it onto Nightwing, lips against his shoulders suddenly, teeth on his neck, scraping over skin, tongue darting out to lick it better. The smirk slid under Nightwing's skin as Ryuuji quite happily cheated again, energy trickling and twisting down Nightwing's shoulders, blossoming like a bruise to make a flower of heat under his skin - a distraction from the way that Ryuuji scissored his fingers, twisted and searched for a tiny patch of skin that would feel warmer than the rest (Nightwing was tight against his fingers, and it was way too tempting to skip this, but Ryuuji believed in sitreps and paranoia and if he knew where- there.

Perfect.

Crooking both fingers harshly for a second, he drew them out, then knelt between Nightwing's legs, one hand gripping the inside of each thigh, pressing hard enough to bruise (Ryuuji really, really was capable of being gentle during sex, just not under these circumstances, not when he wanted it so badly and not when Nightwing liked it like this, practically invited it). He took a second to catch his breath and just look at Nightwing, green eyes sweeping over the other's body swiftly, appreciatively, focused on and aware of everything. Every scar he'd kissed, every etched line of muscle, every centimeter of salt-sweet skin. Everything.

"Your wish," And the words came out a little more breathless than he would have liked as he slowly started to push into Nightwing, steady and controlled and resisting the urge to just thrust in at the tight heat that surrounded him, "Is my command."

And there was something in Nightwing's eyes that made Ryuuji decide to abandon that plan and just slam into the other, pushing Nightwing's legs back against his chest (gods bless acrobatic flexibility as well), and bending down to kiss him with all the wild glee of the victor, Ryuuji resisting the temptation to crow at how good this felt. Because fuck, it was even better than he'd dared to dream it would be, and he'd spent much too much time dreaming.

“Fuck,” And the word was strangled, hoarse, usually smooth voice roughed by something close to shock, “You’re so tight”. The words were smeared over Nightwing’s lips, like they were a substance, honey-sticky and heavy, and Ryuuji’s eyes were nearly pure black as he forced himself to stay still (mostly, just a little twist of his hips, trying to get deeper because fuck, Nightwing, perfect, why hadn’t they done this sooner?).

"Oh, fuck." Shivering, eyes rolling back into his head, Dick managed to get out a choked "Fuck, yes, like that."

Dazedly, he tried to catalogue the differences between this and his previous experiences, (an odd throwaway thought made him wonder whether this new Babs was as fond of strapons as the one he had dated) but he quickly gave up and just settled on a thought pattern that might be best summed up with "!!!" Trying to put words to this was completely useless; it felt delicious, like fireworks, like that moment when a grapple first caught and the t-line vibrated with the impact, like the thrill of the chase. Only they weren't really moving, like one did when hunting a criminal to the ground.

Dick decided to fix that. With an effort, he managed to get out a strangled sentence. "Don't just fucking stay still, want it hard." And, partially because he really did want it that way, and partially because he had a pretty good guess Ryuuji would definitely enjoy it that way, the vigilante growled, "Make it hurt." Hardly one to make suggestions he wasn't willing to follow himself (during sex, at any rate – elsewhere was a different story) he writhed, a little harsh shimmy that made beads of sweat stand out on his forehead, breath coming out in sharp little gasps.

As enjoyable as kissing was, it was taking up too much concentration to keep his mouth by Ryuuji's. Instead, he did what he really wanted to do: throw his head back, jerkily, and expose his throat in a mute invitation, submissive and wanton and desperate. But . . . not too submissive, with his demanding little hiss of "C'mon, fuck me."

Okay. Perfection just hit new levels. Hit hard, like the smack of concrete when you jump off a building, hit the ground and have every bone in your body broken and you're not aware of anything (not even pain) except the sheer intensity of sensation. Because Nightwing - and - hot - coherent thought. It existed. Ryuuji had used to have it, once upon a time (this is not a fairy tale, unless it's one of the unedited ones, it might fit in the original Arabian Nights though). He was tensed with the effort of not moving, of staying still and trying to give Nightwing time to adjust and-

And it was completely unnecessary. A smirk twisted his lips - Ryuuji hadn't known before it was possible to smirk from sheer relief - and his eyes glittered even as Ryuuji pushed himself up, hands placed just under the back of Nightwing's knees. Normally, he would have been hesitant to keep anyone in a position like that, knees to the shoulders and bent double but this was Nightwing. Ryuuji had sparred enough with him to know that he could take a stretch like that and hold it. Besides, with Nightwing forced open like that, it would be easier for Ryuuji to thrust deeper into him, and that was always fun.

He didn't kiss the other again, though it was tempting to lean down and bite at the exposed throat, latch-suck-hurt, mark it even further so that the reddening marks would flush brightly. Instead, Ryuuji found the other's ankle - he loved the way that the knob of bone just stuck out like that - and kissed that, opened his mouth to suck on the thin layer of skin-muscle, scraped his teeth over it and sucked like he wanted to tear the flesh off Nightwing's bones.

That done, he shot Nightwing a look from under his eyelashes, wicked and pleased and confident in all of the worst (best?) ways, the kind of look that screamed that Nightwing had just done exactly what Ryuuji wanted him to and was going to be rewarded for it. He withdrew from the other with a rough jerk, and hiss-warned-promised him (cliches are cliches for areason), "Careful,"

White teeth flashed in a smirk that was edged with cruelty, soaked in desire, "What you wish for that."

And when he thrust into the Nightwing, Ryuuji did it like he wanted Nightwing to break, the rhythm being fast and rough and vicious, as if it were controlling him and not the other way around.