Welcome! So this is another for the 100 Prompts, this time it's 43, Dying! This was requested by... someone, but for the life of me I cannot find the ask right now so... Just let me know, if you're the one? I know it was someone I know the name of. I remember answering. XD Anyway, JayDick was requested, and JayDick is given. Enjoy!
Warnings for: Lots of graphic sex.
Sometimes, Dick gets in moods. He has no idea what prompts these moods, and hasn't been able to link them to anything specific over the years they've been together, but every once in awhile it still happens.
His warning sign is when Dick wakes him up at somewhere around too-fucking-early in the morning, a hand between his legs before he's even fully conscious and the other hand involved in rubbing his nipples into hard little peaks. He wakes up hard and with a low ache thrumming through him, pushing forward into Dick's hands and then back against the long, hard press of his partner at his back.
Dick just presses closer, legs sliding between his and then hooking around his calves so Dick can roll and pull him backwards. He ends up lying half on top of the older man, his back arched a bit from the accidental dig of a shoulder into his spine, Dick's mouth at his neck and hands still busy. He grabs at the sheets with one hand and the muscle of Dick's side with the other, kind of loving how the legs wound around his are keeping him open, keeping him spread even if he had the desire to struggle, which he doesn't.
He luxuriates in Dick's attention, rubbing fingers across the heat of the side beneath his hand and letting his head fall further to the side, baring more of his throat for the perusal of Dick's mouth. He gives a soft groan, realizing that Dick's hand is slick with what he's pretty sure is lube, and vaguely wondering if this wake up call is going to go any further than just this. They have before, and then sometimes they haven't. It's a guessing game.
Dick works him expertly, silent but focused, and it's not all that long before he's gasping and rolling his hips forward into Dick's grip, chasing the edges of release. The grip on him tightens a bit, works in tandem with his hips so he's as much fucking Dick's hand as Dick's hand is stroking him. Against his low back, he can feel the slight dampness as Dick rubs against him with each movement.
He twists the sheet between his fingers, panting and moving on instinct and little else, nails curling against Dick's side. If it hurts, Dick doesn't say anything. The mouth at his neck sucks another mark just below his ear, teeth graze over it, and he gives a deep groan and comes.
His hips stutter, tension draining away to leave him relaxed and loose, the streaks of it landing over his stomach and undoubtedly Dick's knuckles. He gives another groan as Dick lets go of him, legs unwinding from his calves as his partner shifts out from underneath him. Then Dick is stretched out along his side, and he turns his head and opens his eyes a bit.
Dick is just watching him, a faint smile curving those lips. "Good morning," Dick murmurs.
"Good morning," he answers, voice a bit groggy. "It's—" he looks past Dick, at the drawn curtains and the color of the light shining in around the edges "—really early."
Dick just smiles wider, not even a trace of sleep deprivation in the easy warmth that Dick is looking at him with, which is just a bit unfair. Usually, he's the morning person of the two of them, and he's up about an hour before Dick and cooking by the time his partner gets up. Sort-of awake Dick is one of his favorite things, even if it does come with morning breath most of the time.
"I'm not going back to sleep, am I?" he asks, with a little bit of resignation.
"Definitely not," Dick says, and then a hand is rising and he watches as Dick licks the strands of come off his fingers, sucking each one clean and then releasing it with a lewd pop of sound. Which is familiar, but never stops being hot as fuck.
He's not getting hard again this fast, but he can feel himself twitch at the sight. Instead of commenting on that, or on the picture of sin that Dick is, he just says, "I'm going to need a nap at some point. Can I get like, five minutes to brush teeth and pee?"
Dick leans over him, bracing a hand on his chest and kissing him for a moment, and then draws back with a small laugh and a, "Yeah. Good idea."
"I have those sometimes."
When he tries to get up, Dick pushes down on his chest and keeps him pinned, and before he can complain about that Dick is grinning in a way he knows means trouble. "Just hang on a second, Jay," is all the warning he gets before Dick is ducking down, tongue swiping up his stomach and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.
He can't quite hold onto the low groan that rumbles out of his throat, as he stares down the length of his own chest. "Jesus fuck," he mutters, "you're going to kill me someday, Dick." He groans again, raising a hand to cover his own mouth as he mumbles, "Going to fucking keel over from blood loss from a fucking boner; how dignified."
He's clean when Dick lets him up, kissing him to silence his grumbles before all but hauling him out of the bed and towards the bathroom. Once there, Dick presses up against his back, lacing hands around his waist and holding him. He can feel the hard press of Dick's cock against him, feel the graze of teeth and lips at his shoulder, but Dick just presses close and stays there, not pushing for more. For now.
At least until Dick ends up pressing him down over the counter beside the sink, face almost against the glass of the mirror, and sinking fingers inside of him. He doesn't really protest, to be fair; he's peed, brushed his teeth, and even managed to get Dick to brush his teeth, so honestly he feels like he's won. Besides, sex isn't a bad thing.
Dick pulls him down to the floor, the rug rough under his knees, and really he doesn't even try to stop it when Dick grips his hips and pushes inside. He's still tired, still relaxed and lazy, so he just leans back into Dick's chest and tilts his head back against one shoulder. Dick catches him in a kiss, slow as they stay still and he adjusts to the sensation. One arm slides around his waist, holding them together, and then he gives a soft moan as Dick's other hand slides up his chest and wraps strong fingers around his throat.
He reaches back, wrapping his hand in Dick's hair and then gasping against the grip around his throat. It's not threatening, just a careful hold around his neck, but just the presence of those fingers is intoxicating. It always is.
Dick fucks him slow and deep, and they share sounds between their mouths, breathing hard. He moves back as best he can, rocking against Dick's movements and pulling against that black hair curled between his fingers. Dick holds his throat, and at some point, reaches down and curls the other hand around his cock.
He comes like that, sensitive and moaning, and Dick is only a few moments behind him this time. He moans again at the feeling of the release inside him, and then clings tight to Dick's hair and arm and doesn't let his partner pull away. Not until Dick's gone soft, and slips out of him with just a small shift of hips. Then he lets Dick pull him down onto the rug and wrap them together, arms around his back and a forehead against his, lazy satisfaction in the air and sunk deep into his bones.
He's pretty sure he falls asleep, because he feels sort of stiff the next time he opens his eyes. Dick's still wrapped around him, close and warm, but there's a chill against his exposed skin and the floor is cold where he's touching it and not the rug over it. He shivers a little bit, presses closer for a second, and then draws in a deep breath and forces himself to pull back. Dick makes a sleepy, protesting sound, but does let him pull away.
Those blue eyes blink open, and Dick reaches out and catches his arm as he starts to stand. "Where you going?" Dick asks, fingers stroking down his arm to his wrist.
"Somewhere comfortable," he answers, twisting until his back cracks and he can sigh out a breath of relief. "Or with food."
Dick smiles, slow and charming with that black hair falling in his eyes and fuck, sometimes he forgets how damn good looking his partner is. "I've got food."
"Real food," he corrects, rolling his eyes. "You coming?"
"Mmmm… Not yet."
He dodges Dick's grasping other hand, and then shakes off the one around his wrist and gets to his feet. "Well, I'm making food. If you think you can pry yourself off the ground you can come with me and have some."
He walks out without waiting for an answer, but he's pretty sure that Dick will join him. One thing he hasn't seen Dick do is sleep on the bathroom floor when he's cooking a meal; if Dick was in the bed it would be an entirely different story. Usually the smell of either coffee — sure as hell making some of that — or the food itself will drag Dick out of bed, where Dick will come up behind him and wrap arms around his waist and generally make a clingy nuisance of himself until there's actual food.
How that managed to stop bothering him he's not entirely sure.
He's midway through getting eggs into a pan next to some sausage — today, simpler is probably better — when Dick comes into the kitchen, immediately staying true to his usual behavior and plastering up against his back.
To head things off at the pass, he says, "You try anything while I'm cooking I will smack you."
"Promise?" Dick teases, but does step away from him. A glance back shows Dick — still entirely naked, just like him — settling into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, sprawling out with legs spread and wide. He doesn't flush, because that would be encouraging and sometimes you really have to treat Dick like he's a puppy in training.
Do not reward bad behavior or it will never end.
He cooks up enough for both of them, and saves the first plate until he's done with the second because he doesn't want Dick to finish eating before he does and then have time to mess with him again. He has learned over the years, really. Most of what he's learned are ways to stop Dick from being quite so distracting when he knows he shouldn't be distracted, because left to his own devices he's not going to stop Dick because 'distractions' are wonderful, wonderful things. It only took him one time of burning food to decide that Dick was never, ever allowed to do any of that while he has anything on any sort of flame. Oven included.
That does not, however, stop Dick from climbing over his lap once breakfast is done and 'convincing' him to slip his fingers down against and then inside that perfect fucking ass. Definitely doesn't stop Dick from tugging his hair and leaving even more marks on his neck, rocking against him and riding his fingers. Both hands settle on his shoulders, and then Dick sinks down on him and rides him instead, and that's way better in a dozen different ways, even if the chair does creak a little alarmingly near the end when Dick picks up the pace.
They've never broken a piece of furniture yet , but he's sure it's only a matter of time.
When Dick starts rocking again , like he's actually trying for another round before either of them are even hard, he groans and buries his face against Dick's shoulder.
"Going to kill me," he repeats, grumbling, and firmly wraps his arms around Dick to stop him for at least a moment. "Break. Nap ."
Dick laughs but does stop, pulling away and off of him. He gets up much more slowly, and somehow Dick is still energized and cheery because a hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him towards the bedroom. He expects to be tugged down and tangled up again, warm in sheets and against Dick's body, but that's not what happens. Instead, Dick guides him down to lie on his stomach and then leans over him, hot against his back for a few moments.
"Just relax, Jay," Dick murmurs, and he just gives some kind of an unintelligible noise as answer, pretty much willing to let Dick do anything he wants as long as that doesn't involve him having to move.
Dick moves away, and he doesn't look up at the faint rasp of a drawer, or when the bed dips again as Dick gets back on it. He does gasp a little when Dick's hands come down on his back, rubbing some kind of oil into his shoulders and he lasts about two seconds before giving a thick moan. Dick chuckles, but those hands don't stop and really, that's the important part.
He is weak and totally vulnerable to even a hint of a massage and god does Dick know that. He'll melt into the press of thumbs against the back of his neck on a movie night, or the work of fingers down his arms, and when Dick actually gets around to pulling out oil and really working? He's lost. Every time. He either ends up asleep, or so blissed out that he's basically a ragdoll and Dick can do any or everything to him without him protesting. It's… kind of glorious, if he's honest. Somehow, he can never manage to be anything but honest around Dick, at least about the important things.
"You're too good to me," he slurs into the pillow.
He thinks it's probably too muffled to understand, but then Dick leans down and kisses the back of his neck, whispering, "I'm exactly as good as you deserve, Little Wing. Sleep, Jay; I've got you."
He turns his head enough to free his mouth, and to look over his shoulder as he carefully enunciates, "I love you."
Dick smiles, and kisses his cheek this time. "I know; love you too, Jay."
Those hands go back to work, and he groans and turns his head back into the pillow so he can just melt.