GAH! I'M LATE! I totally forgot about posting this yesterday, apologies! Anyway, things are good, I'm good, come stalk me on Tumblr, etc. You guys know the drill. The only thing I have to say is that this is actually not connected to my main Earth-3 universe, it does not fit in. So just consider it a random oneshot of porny goodness where they happen to be in Earth-3.
The warnings for this are: Dub-consensual-ish (everything about them is dub-con-ish), light sadism, light masochism, biting, rough-play, and implied/referenced underage. And it's Earth-3 Dick/Jason, which should be its own warning.
The alley wall slams hard into my back, and my breath leaves me in a rush even as I immediately kick out and swing a fist from the opposite direction. Dick laughs, bouncing back and rolling across the asphalt, rising and flipping and flying in the way that only he can, defying all the laws of gravity and physics and everything the natural world knows. His body arcs through the air, a smooth line of black and blue, and I duck to the side and slash up at him with my knife.
Somehow, someway, he dodges while in the air, and then one foot snaps out as he lands and my knife goes spinning into the alleyway. He leaps up at me, grabbing me by the lapels of my leather jacket as I try and recoil and spinning me, slamming me up against the wall again. I thank god that my helmet is as good as it is, even though he's already shattered the area above one side of my forehead, and the mix of white, tech-overlayed vision and normal sight is messing with my perception a bit.
It'd be better to get the damn thing off my head now, but I can't. Dick won't give me the chance.
One of his smaller knives slips out and rips through my shirt and armor, high on my throat and I can feel the sting of it so it must split skin, and then he's jumping back and running, tossing a grin and a laugh over his shoulder.
You're it.
I snarl and follow him. Not that I can catch him on my own, especially not as he flips and jumps up the alleys walls and fire escapes like it's nothing, and flings a knife to cut the cable of my grapnel as I shoot it. I abandon it and climb the fire escape by hand, getting to the roof fast but not fast enough to be anywhere near caught up. He leaps off the opposite side, giving me a mocking salute as he twists and falls, and I run across the rooftop. Where I feel like a moron because he's hooked on one of the ornamental bars of the building and spinning back up with momentum, weight crashing directly into the center of my chest.
I feel the gravel of the roof dig into my skin through my shirt as I slam down into it, and even with my helmet I'm dazed for a few moments. Long enough for Dick to perch down over me and slide both my hands into a pair of metal cuffs, pinning them above my head with one hand and a knife between the link of chain between. I glare up at him as he grins down, his other hand hooking underneath my chin and unlocking my helmet with a familiarity I wish to god he didn't have.
It comes off with a click and a hiss that doesn't matter because it wasn't actually sealed anymore, and he tosses it to the side.
I always wear a domino mask underneath it while in Gotham, but it's shredded on the same side my helmet was shattered. He lets me keep the rest of it anyway as he leans down and bites into my bottom lip, his body curling and bending in ways that shouldn't be possible. Fucking gravity-defying asshole. He bites down until I let loose a pained grunt into his mouth, and then kisses me properly. It's all teeth and tongue, the hand not holding my wrists down looping around to drag me up by the back of my neck, the gloves curling into the hair at the base of my skull.
My breath comes short and sharp, and for just a second I lose all desire to fight him. Just a second.
Then he lets me go and his hand slips down between us and unbuckles my belt.
"No," I snarl, jerking against him and twisting my hips to get away from the hand pulling my zipper down and reaching inside to oh fuck, god. "We're on a rooftop," I snap at him, arching even though I don't want to, even though this is the worst place and the gravel hurts and this is a bad idea.
"So what?" he counters, and the words die on my tongue as he grips and strokes, the glove covering his hand smooth and a fucking amazing contrast to the rest of him. "Anyone looking is just going to assume I'm torturing you, right?" he asks, with a smirk and a flash of too bright, too sharp teeth. "You're my enemy, aren't you Red Hood?"
"Fuck," is all I manage to spit out, and his hand is twisting and pulling in all the ways I can't fight, could never fight, and he lets go of my wrists — leaving me pinned only by the knife — to slip his second hand into my hair and bring me up for another kiss. "Dick, no," I say, pulling away and shaking my head, trying to avoid everything he is.
He purrs and never slows his hand, the touch almost painful and fuck if that isn't just the way I — secretly, to no one but him and myself — like it. I cry out and he muffles it in his mouth, teeth nipping and I'm pretty sure there's blood between us but that isn't new either. I arch against him, pulling and ripping the knife from the ground, reaching up and I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do until I reach him and my hands twist into the fabric of suit, dragging him closer to me.
I arch, twist us both in a way that would make Bruce proud and slam him onto his back, gaining the upper hand. Because he lets me. He pulls up beneath me, one leg sliding around the back of my thighs and hooking me closer in a way that I can't resist, his hand hard in my hair and pulling me down against him.
As if we could be mistaken for fighting.
I try and brace on the ground but he knocks my arms out from under me, crashing our mouths together as I fall and arching up against me, and this was not what I was going to do when I was out from under him. The hand on me leaves, curling around my back to grab my ass and pull my hips down against his own. He makes a bright pleased noise and rolls against me, and I choke into his mouth and gasp.
"Just let me have it, Jason," he says into the fractions of space between our kisses, and I snarl and try to pull away. Another roll of his hips, pressing the muscle of his thigh up against me in a way that's so perfect it's wrong, and a wrench of the hair in his hand so my head is held down against his shoulder stops that. Another twist and I'm on my back again, Dick firmly on top of me and his hand sliding from my ass back to the front of me, slipping into my undone jeans again.
"Get off," I snap, even if it ends in a breathy groan, shoving up at him with my bound hands. He ducks and slips easily into the gap between them, straightening up so my arms are trapped where they're now looped around his waist. Damn handcuffs.
"That's the point, yeah," he says with a laugh, and with my hands trapped both of his are free to drop down and yank at my jeans, pulling them down my hips.
"Son of—" is all I get out before he cuts me off with a hand on my dick, and his second slides around my hips and back to my ass and he wouldn't, right? Not even Dick would fuck me out on a rooftop in Gotham. His hand hooks under my knee and drags my leg upwards and I panic for just a second. "Fuck, Dick don't!"
He leans sideways and bites me through the denim of my jeans, his teeth sharp and hard enough to hurt even through it, and it's wrong how good it feels, my back arching a bit off the gravel and my hands clenching to fists behind his back. "Relax, Jason," he says with a grin. "Just a bit of fun, I won't fuck you unless you beg me for it."
That's not a promise, not really. Dick's pretty damn good at making people beg. His hand tightens on me and twists until I give a choked cry, back arching high and staying that way as he strokes at me with practiced skill. He makes a satisfied little noise, pushing down into me and laying biting kisses into the denim-covered skin of my inner thigh, until he leans down — and backs shouldn't bend that far — and sinks his teeth into the thin, sensitive skin over the bone of my hip on the left side. I gasp and my hips jerk up into him.
I've always wondered just how badly fucked my head is that I enjoy Dick at his roughest. Not his nastiest, because I'm not a fan of knives and if he ever tried to bring one around me I'd turn it on him before I let him use it, but at his roughest, where he's all teeth and nails and the press and arch of a body against me until it hurts. Until I go home limping and raw, covered in scratches, scrapes, and the imprints of his nipping, biting mouth. I've slept with a lot of people, fucked and been fucked and done all kinds of things that would make most people blush or cringe away. But no one compares to Dick. No one else can hold me down and do this to me, most people couldn't even try.
Not with strength, because when it comes down to it I am physically stronger than Dick, but with the flexibility and the skill of someone who knows how I work and how I fight. Who could take me apart if he wants to, and chooses just to have me instead.
Dick gives a low groan, and I wish I could see underneath his mask because I bet his eyes are hazy and alive, burning bright with lust but glazed over because of that same feeling. I can only see the curve of his smirk, teeth sinking a little further into my flesh until I'm sure that he's broken skin, and I can only press up into his mouth and silently beg for more. My hands drag along his back, and he arches under my touch like a cat, his teeth biting and fuck, there are tears in my eyes from how much it hurts and how good it feels.
"Dick," I plead, and he lets me go. His teeth are stained with blood, mine, and he lays another sharp bite farther up my waist. With the way he's bent I can pull my arms higher up, out of the trap around his waist, and I curl both of them into his hair, the chain of the handcuffs stretched tight between them. He releases the skin between his teeth and his hand lets go of my leg, letting it fall down as he leans down over me and raises those fingers to my mouth.
The gloved fingertips slip past my lips, and I close my eyes and tighten my grip in his hair as his wrist rolls and thrusts fingers into my mouth in mimicry, at the same speed as his other hand is jerking me off. "You're so pretty when you're desperate, Jason," he murmurs, the lines of his body warm against mine and pinning me down with his weight, and I let go of his hair to clutch at the fabric on his back and shoulders. I moan and shudder, any words I might have had swallowed back down. "Suck for me, little wing?" he asks, whispering in my ear, and my grip tightens as my hips jerk helplessly upwards into his hand.
I do what he wants, laving and suckling at the gloved fingers rolling through my mouth, the muscles of my throat working as I swallow and give a shaking moan around them. He gives a pleased sound, his teeth digging at the edge of my jaw. Not hard enough to break skin this time, probably not even enough to bruise. Dick doesn't usually like bruising my face, he's kind of a vain bastard like that and likes his partners to stay 'pretty' looking.
His hands move in time with each other, and I choke for a moment as a swell of arousal hits me and drags me sharply upwards towards the end. I arch up against him, hips stuttering, and he laughs into my ear.
"Yes," he says in a hiss, touch getting just a little rougher in response to my muffled noises and the tension in my frame.
I can't help crying out around his fingers, throat bending backwards and the gravel of the roof digging into my skin. He keeps level with me easily, never pausing but actually speeding up a little, and I try and keep my teeth away from his fingers but I'm not sure that I actually manage it. I writhe, clutching hard enough at his suit that if it were normal fabric, a shirt or anything else, it would rip under my fingers. But it's better than that, and only twists and endures my grip.
"Break, Jason," Dick demands, teeth sinking hard into the side of my throat, and I can't even try to do anything but obey.
I shout around his fingers, arching still and high for a moment as I spill over his hand and my world blacks out for a moment. The feeling spins up my spine and down again, my muscles locking tight in ecstasy so amazing it's painful for what feels like drawn out minutes before the high eases off and I sink back against the rooftop.
When I come fully back to myself his fingers are slipping out of my mouth, and I blink my eyes open and shiver, swallowing thickly and feeling his teeth let go of the skin of my neck. He pushes up, using my chest to brace off of as he ducks under and out from the loop of my arms, and sits back on my thighs. He's got a wicked smirk on his face, a pleased twist of lips that looks like he's immensely satisfied with himself, and the hand that was in my mouth slides down my side to my hip.
Before I fully realize what's happening he's got one of my knives in his hand and he's slicing upwards, and if I wasn't still floating I'd probably have a better chance of dodging but as it is I can only cringe back and wait for the strike to hit me. My shirt rips with a loud noise, and I blink and stare, wasting another precious moment as he neatly, efficiently, slices the front of my shirt off me and rips the rest from my chest. I've got armor on underneath, and the jacket over it, but what the fuck?
I stare up at him in confusion and he gives a small, careless shrug. "You have a jacket, and my costume is black." The shreds of my shirt swipe over his gloved hand, and I breathe in sharply in something between embarrassment and a desire too worn out to really be arousal. I think I might twitch.
He tosses the shreds of my shirt aside, a flick of his hand and a spitting lighter later and they're on fire, too. I stare, kind of surprised by the sudden fire until my exhausted mind gives me an answer for it. Removal of evidence, for anyone who might have been looking. More habit than anything else, at this point. He looks down at me, lifting his weight for just a moment to pull my jeans back up and tuck me back inside them, closing the zipper and buckling my belt like nothing even happened. Except the smell of sex is heavy in the air, even if smoke is starting to contaminate it.
He leans over me, the graceful lines of his form smooth and arching, dipping in a way that I've only ever seen the match of in Catwoman. "I think you owe me one, Jason," he murmurs into the space between us, hands braced against the rooftop on either side of my head. My hands jerk almost automatically, the single loop of chain in the handcuffs not even starting to give because these are the handcuffs of the Owl, and built for more than a human's strength.
"I don't think holding me down on a rooftop in the middle of Gotham counts as a favor," I manage, and Dick's laughter is bright and free, and he rocks back and to his feet in an instant, standing over me. He leans down, grabbing me by each side of my jacket and dragging me up as I twist under him, scrambling to get my feet under me until he has my on my knees, his hands curled into my hair.
"Oh Jason," he says softly, at odds with his smirk, "if you didn't like it you wouldn't let me." I'm not really surprised at where this looks like it's heading. Dick doesn't give without taking, and while he might get off on causing pain he prefers the actual taking to playing and this isn't exactly something new to me. "How about you use your teeth, little wing?"
I blink up at him, then snarl. "I can't pull your suit apart with my fucking teeth, Dick. They're a little complicated and you damn well know that."
"Tim has," he answers with a slow smirk, and I recoil a little bit and stare in shock.
"He what?" I demand, and Dick laughs again, fingers twisting and tugging in my hair to pull my head a little farther up.
"He's got quite the mouth, Jason," Dick purrs, leaning down to press a kiss to my lips, and then another, smaller one. I pretty much just stare at him, unable to really form coherent sentences or try and put my thoughts together well enough to think past the shock, anger, jealousy, and something that I don't want to look too closely at because it might be want. "Took him thirty minutes studying the blueprints of our suits and two to take it off once he figured it out." Dick makes a small sound that's a bit like a moan against my lips, straightening back up. "I'll get him to show you sometime."
"What?! No," I protest, sharply. "He's just a kid, Dick." I can't actually remember precisely how old Tim is, not right now though I will damn well be looking it up later when I can think, but I'm pretty sure he's not legal yet. Not like that's stopped Dick before, but that's not the point.
Even under the mask, I can see the arch of one of his eyebrows as Dick gives a smile. "No younger than you were when you came to me, Jason," he counters, and makes a sharp noise when I open my mouth to continue arguing with him. "We can have this talk later, Jason. You've got work to do."
And we're back around to what started this. I clench my jaw, trying to ignore the distracting touch and tug of his hands in my hair. "I'm not opening your suit with my teeth, Dick. Go to hell."
Dick gives a small shrug and lets go of me with his right hand, still holding me as his hand drops to his own crotch. The suits aren't one piece — the excuse is that sometimes you just need to piss when you're working, but I really think that it was Dick's fault — and with a bit of work they do come undone, but the straps, hooks, and connections holding them together aren't easy to pull apart and we make very sure no one even knows that it's possible. There wouldn't be much worse than one of our enemies figuring out that they could essentially pull our pants down if they did it right. So only us Owls know.
Bruce, Dick, Tim—
Holy fuck, Tim actually got one of these things apart with his teeth? I knew the kid was smart and learned fast — even faster than I do, but I'll deny that till my second dying breath — but that's still pretty ridiculously impressive. I don't even know where I would start on something like that.
…
It's wrong on so many levels that the thought of Dick's surprised, pleased, approval of a move as impressive as that, and the reward Tim probably got for it, makes me really jealous.
The suit comes undone, the armor and fabric falling away, and I can't help my gaze falling to the skin underneath. I swallow in automatic reaction, and Dick makes a pleased little noise and reaches in past the tight, dark blue briefs — to match the color scheme, in case of torn fabric — to wrap a gloved hand around himself and pull it free. I swallow again.
It's been… a long time. Not from anyone, sex is a release of mine that I don't give up for anyone, but it's been a long time since I've been with Dick. At least a few months.
I really shouldn't want any of this. I should be able to get the hell off my knees, tear myself away from Dick's hands and snarl at him that thank you very much I'm perfectly fucking fine without him. But I can't, it would be a lie, and I'd end up right back here because Dick can see right through me every single time. It doesn't matter what I do, or what I don't, Dick knows me almost as well as Bruce does, which is still better than I know myself.
"It's alright, Jason," Dick says with a small, wicked grin. "You're still better than him at this, I swear. You've got a passion for it." Which is a fucked up way of making me competitive but it works so damn him.
I lean forward, teeth bared but Dick doesn't even flinch or twitch away, just lets me open my mouth as I slide down over the head of his cock and flatten my tongue along the bottom. He gives that same bright, startled little laugh he always does, like he always forgets how good it feels, and his other hand returns to my hair, stroking along my scalp more than pulling and letting me set my own pace. Why would he have to control me when I'm doing it willingly?
I swallow and slide deeper, raising my hands to press against his thighs and fist the fabric of them in my hands, pulling down as I lean in. His taste hits my tongue and I give a half-aware pleased little hum, running my tongue over and under and sucking as hard as I'm capable of because I'm not the only one of the two of us who likes a little pain. Dick likes giving it more, but an edge of it when he's playing even vaguely bottom is a surefire way to wind him towards the edge faster.
"Jason," he moans over my head, as completely unrestrained as he always is, and I slip down deeper over his cock, swallowing and hearing him give a sharp little cry, fingers tugging at my hair. Not hard enough to want me to pull off — he would yank, if he wanted me off of him — but just because he pulls, that's what he does. It's like biting.
He should consider himself fucking lucky that I don't bite, or I'd be hurting him for making me competitive. I don't appreciate being played, even if it is pretty much totally blunt and straightforward. I don't like being made to do things, and I like it even less when it's Dick provoking me because he can, not because he actually thinks I won't do what he wants. There isn't much I wouldn't do if he asked me… or told me. I'm not big on taking orders usually, but Dick's a special case most of the time. He makes you want to please him, like the world revolves around him and you should just follow in the spin.
He makes another startled noise when I slip all the way to the base of his cock, ignoring my gag reflex with total ease. It doesn't mean he's actually surprised, Dick knows damn well what I can do, but it's just the flavor of the noise he always makes in moments like these. More like he's surprised that someone else is capable of making him make noise, and it's not happening the other way around. Like he's never quite sure he's going to make all those moans, and cries, until he actually does. It's a point of pride, not going to lie.
Though I've got no idea if he only does it with me, or if that's something he does with the rest of his lovers too.
Dick's not monogamous in the slightest — takes what he wants when he wants it and moves from person to person like he's still trying to hunt something down — but it's not just my own stupid naivete speaking that I think I'm probably the closest thing he has to a real lover. Not just because I'm the only one he keeps here in Gotham, his home — apart from Tim, apparently, Christ — but because I'm the only one that he doesn't, can't, shut out when he's done with me.
As much as I hate thinking about it, I'm an Owl. I'm one of Bruce's former Talons and I always will be, even if I usually don't side with them or work for him anymore. That's an allegiance that's never going to go away. It's going to be branded into my soul and part of my public image as long as the world keeps turning. There goes Red Hood, the guy who used to work for the Owlman.
But I'm still one of them, I'm part of our messed up 'family', and Dick can't shut me out like he does people who aren't in our family. With his other lovers, temporary or semi-permanent, he can shut down and turn all smiles, teeth, and knives on them. Dare them to try infringing on Owlman's territory or to try touching him again and see how many fingers they lose for it. It never pays to forget that underneath his smiles and his carefree attitude, Dick is a killer just as much as the rest of us. He just enjoys what he does more than most.
Dick can't do that to me, and he's never tried. He can't shut me out without Owlman's support, and Bruce won't shut me out as long as I'm still useful to him. I like to think that I see parts of Dick that only our 'family' gets to, and that I see even more because I've been his for so much longer, maybe even the longest. At the end of the day Dick knows I'd never really turn on him, or on Bruce. Maybe I snarl and snap and act like I'm their biggest enemy, their most dangerous, but I would cut the throat of anyone who tried to force me to sell them out long before I'd do it.
There's no price for this kind of loyalty, and I was raised and taught to be part of this family. Dick will always be able to control me, just like Bruce can.
So I like to believe that Dick considers me a lot more important than most of his other flings, even his semi-permanent threesome thing with Harper and that Tamaranean alien he teams up with sometimes. After all, I'm one of the few people trained nearly as well as he is, and I only say nearly because Dick's got that whole 'I can defy gravity and physics because apparently I have no bones and don't weigh anything' thing, and unfortunately for me I can't do that. I have to actually do normal acrobatics, like a normal person who can't fly.
Dick arches and cries out into the night, and I get about a half a second of worrying about if anyone's listening before refocusing on what I'm doing. So what if anyone is? Good for them, get a little action in their lives, a little glimpse behind the curtain of masked life.
It's not like this is a secret. Everyone knows that Dick is desirable, and attractive, and likes to fuck or be fucked by most things that move if given the chance. A lot of people have made the mistake of thinking that means he can be distracted by sex, or that they can take without asking really nicely, on their knees. Dick's hurt a lot of people for touching him without permission, and anyone who knows him goes about their day and laughs at the idiot who thought Dick was just a pretty face and a great body.
He's so much more dangerous than that. Always, forever.
I revel in the shudder I can feel in Dick's thighs, curving my mouth around his cock and dragging my teeth lightly down the bottom of it — painful but he likes it — to make him give another of his startled cries and lean over me, his hands clenching and releasing in my hair like he can't decide if he wants to grab, or pull, or stroke. He probably can't.
I slide my hands up his thighs and down again, not bothering to hold back the snarl in my throat at the fact my hands are still cuffed together and I can't touch him the way I want to. He twitches and gives a high-pitched little gasp as the vibrations of my snarl reach his cock, and I can feel it throb inside my mouth. I'm not a metahuman or a teenager anymore, so I'm too worn out to be hard again, but this is enough to send pleasure singing down my spine anyway.
Not to get hard, not even close, but because Dick makes the best noises I've ever heard and it would be impossible for someone to ignore them.
"Jason," he gasps, fingers making up their mind and clenching down hard into my hair, his gloves scraping against my scalp and if they were nails I'd be in trouble but he can't get the same force to scratch me while behind the fabric covering his fingers. I look up at him, along the skintight black costume up to where he's looking down at me, the shudders of his frame easy to see. If I could see his eyes I know they'd be bright, wide and alive, because the expression on his face — like he's a step away from laughter — is the one that matches up with those eyes.
One of his hands forcibly flattens out, smoothing back over my skull, and his voice is shaky when he speaks. "My Jason," he says, with a particularly strong tremble of his muscles, "always mine." The declaration is a demand, not a question, and his mouth circles into a small ring when he moans, his lips pulling back a moment later to bare his teeth.
I clench my hands in the fabric covering his thighs again, holding him and taking a probably overly large amount of pride at the trembling in the muscles under my hands. The fact that I can make Dick, the deadly killer, shake and moan under my hands like no one's watching — or like someone is, because even though no one's said it we all know Dick's an exhibitionist — is a serious ego booster.
I knew I was good, I never had any doubts about that and no one ever said otherwise, but this is a special level of good.
Dick jerks forward, pressing into my mouth as he arches back, hands tightening even further in my hair but not pushing like others might, not holding me to him. A loud, desperate cry echoes into the night, and then he's laughing as he swells and spills in my mouth, and I close my eyes and hold him still as I swallow it down. Things I don't do for anyone else, but this is Dick and exceptions were created for him. It's not like the taste is bad, and there's a certain amount of satisfaction in it, especially because Dick is always so pleased about it.
He leans down over me, hips jerking in small, mostly controlled stutters of movement, the trembling under my hands easing, and Dick's hands loosen and smooth out in my hair.
I draw off slowly, reveling in the small shudders I get as I pull away, and swallow the very last of his release away as I let his slowly shrinking cock slip from between my lips. He makes a quiet gasping noise and leans down, kissing me with passion really not totally appropriate for someone who just came down from an orgasm. I meet it, and he follows my movement without a pause or a flaw as I bend and get my feet underneath me, standing up. I can't draw him close to me like I'd like to, not with my hands still cuffed, so I settle for fisting handfuls of his suit and dragging him in by that, up against me.
He gives a soft laugh — these are his second softest moments, the winner is when he's half-asleep next to you and just watches you with a tiny smile, completely at ease — and leans into me, stretching and arching forward against my body, head resting on my shoulder. I let him stand there for a few moments before wiggling my hands between us and poking at his stomach. He makes a disturbed noise but only gives a huff of breath in answer.
"Dick," I try, "my hands you jackass." I take a glance down and roll my eyes, scoffing. "And put your dick away, Dick. Just because you like being looked at…"
"And you like looking," he answers, rubbing up against me with no apparent heed of the fact that we're still standing on one of Gotham's rooftops, his hands wandering over my clothes and the skin beneath it. Not out of any attempt to arouse me again, not that it isn't a little bit, but because above all else Dick is touch oriented, and running hands over someone, stroking and touching, is just his default mode. He'd be doing it if he were tired too.
I like to think I'm the only person who knows that too, apart from Bruce, probably. Family privileges, and benefits. A touchy-feely Dick.
"Yeah," I answer grudgingly, "but not the point, Dick. Unlock the cuffs."
"Unlock them yourself," he counters, sounding sated and very unwilling to move. At all. Fuck.
I shift and crane my fingers, reaching for the EMP lockpick that, I admit, I made specifically to break open Bruce's handcuffs. It's not usually dangerous for me to be in their handcuffs, but I still wanted a way out, just in case. I don't like being made helpless, ever, but especially when it comes to handcuffs. I had enough of that happen the night I died, never again.
I twist my hands to feel for the lock and then slip the makeshift 'key' in, fiddling until I hear it click, and then I hit the button on the EMP and it crackles and spits inside the lock. There's a sharp snap, and suddenly I'm holding half of a broken lockpick and there is no more keyhole.
"Son of a bitch," I snarl, and Dick laughs into my shoulder for a few moments before straightening up and away from me. He tucks himself away, refastening the connections on his suit, as I raise my hands up, examining the cuffs. What the hell? "When did these get updated?" I demand, looking at the sealed off metal where there was a hole. I am not crazy, these cuffs straight up snapped my lockpick in half and ate the other half.
Dick chokes back a laugh and grins at me, reaching forward to zip my jacket up over my shirtless chest. "Yesterday," he answers, patting over my chest briefly before pulling back. "Good luck!"
My head snaps up as he heads for the edge of the roof, a bounce and roll in his step that is half sated and half laughing his fucking ass off on the inside. "Wait," I call after him, taking a step forward. "Dick, you fucking bastard do not leave me like this!"
He shoots me a grin over his shoulder and jumps off the building, and then he's swinging away on a line and I'm staring after him with cuffed hands and at least five miles between me and my nearest safe house, no grapnel, a shattered helmet, and no goddamn shirt. And my knife is still in the alley. Fucking asshole.
"I'm going to kill him," I announce to the rooftop, dropping my hands back down and setting my mouth in a thin line. "This isn't funny!" I shout over the edge of the roof, towards where he vanished, and then shove off the ledge of it with one foot and turn to trudge over to where my helmet is laying, bending to pick it up and fit it over my head before I take a look around, trying to figure out which direction has my closest safe house with enough supplies to get these the hell off my wrists. If I have to cut through these damn things I am going to murder Dick in his sleep.
I grit my teeth, grinding them together and heading for the edge of the building to go reclaim my knife so I can get home and get these damn things off me because I will not be calling Dick to get him to tell me how.
I will strangle him with them first.
There you go! As always, I hope you enjoyed, please drop me a review and let me know what you thought (honestly, one comment can make a writer's week).
