Part Two: …Mixed With Pleasure (Richard Grayson)

Lying in sticky, post-sex bliss, tangled up in the satin sheets of a downtown apartment bed and covered in a happy mixture of bodily fluids (some his, some belonging to two girls slumbering on either side of him); this really was a time for perspective. It had been one of those rare occasions where he had allowed himself to get well and truly drunk, possibly disgracing the Wayne Family name in the process. It wasn't that he was unhappy about what had just happened (the groupies who had snared him were passably pretty), but there was a feeling of clarity looming in the dark which wouldn't go away when the mask went on. So, in the halfway house between mildly inebriated and sober, it was quiet time for Mr Grayson.

He didn't really consider himself to be a man-whore, because he cared about people too much. They weren't objects to be discarded in the same way that he would remove a condom, but he had always been trained to keep his eye on the ball, never letting people get too close. Just keep it within the Family. This had always been at odds with the values his parents had instilled in him from birth. To love was to be happy, and wearing your emotions like a glove was not a crime. And so he found himself in his present situation; sated for the time being, but never truly able to settle down.

Of course it didn't help that he was the adopted son of Gotham's (apparently) womaniser de jour. An inability to maintain a stable relationship was part of the job description, with the tabloids jeering their 'like father, like ward' routine every time he read his name in the news. This was of course an utter steaming pile of dung, but his glaringly obvious commitment issues were unnerving. He could pass it off as the costume's fault; his far too regular outings as Robin, as Nightwing, as Batman, and as Nightwing again being too strenuous and erratic to allow him a normal life. But that was a poor excuse, as his countless masked lovers put paid to that theory. Kory, Babs, Cheyenne, Huntress, Zatanna. Well maybe not as countless as his inner ego would like, but a fair few, none of which were mere notches on a bedpost. He was still good friends with all of them, although each in turn had offered him the same excuse when they broke up with him; 'I'm ready for you, but you're not ready for me', like some sick twist on the old movie cliché. Oh yes, Superman had dubbed him the older brother and lynchpin of the hero community for maintaining these more-than-friendships, except that this really just meant that he was crap at the whole 'going steady' thing. An accidental womaniser, as it was.

He ventured a glance at the clock and its red numbers glared accusingly back at him, stinging his eyes. 03:00 AM. Regardless of his company, it was time to go. He had a couple of leads that needed to be followed up that night, and couldn't risk falling behind when there was so much at stake. Slowly, he un-sandwiched himself from between the arms of Clarissa and Whatshername and hauled himself to a sitting position. As the room decided to spiral, he instantly regretted the move; he remembered why he never drank this much, or maybe he just didn't drink often enough. He needed to sharpen up before moving out into the city, so disentangled himself completely. One of the girls moaned quietly in her sleep at the loss of contact;

'Richie…'

He gave her a reassuring hug before heading out to the kitchen to forage for paracetamol and a glass of water, automatically chiding his conscience for thinking that leaving them was heartless. What he was doing as Nightwing was far from heartless on the grander scale of things, and the girls would probably expect this of him anyway. Favouring a handful of cereal over the sensible pre-prepared meals that Alfred expected him to eat, he downed the drugs and fished out one of his suits from a secret compartment in the drawer. Heading to the shower to clean himself up whilst dragging the costume unsteadily behind him, he still couldn't shake that dark little notion that his love life was living up to the wrong expectations.

Psychologists would probably argue that how he lived in the public eye was some sort of delayed backlash to what happened before Bruce Wayne took him in. Not just his parents being murdered, but the Bohemian lifestyle associated with growing up in the circus. This screamed nothing but bullshit to him as he allowed the cool water to run down his slender and scarred torso. Sure, he would never forget his parents and 'Robin' was a direct reaction to their deaths, but he would never allow that to influence much of his life, not in the way Bruce did. And spending most of his formative years following the moving limelight was supposed to broaden his horizons, not give him commitment issues which poisoned any chance of a lasting relationship. Some might say that he was in denial, but he couldn't blame the dead for his love life. Things were his own fault somehow, but he wasn't quite sure why. Not that it mattered too much at the moment; at least the room had finally stopped spinning.

Zipping up his body armour, he crept back into the bedroom in search of a stray gauntlet; thrown under the bed, tantalisingly close to being discovered by a pale wrist drooping off the duvet, as a result of the last time he forgot to sleep. Careful not to wake the girls, he slide underneath the bedframe with practised stealth and retrieved it along with his last unbroken pair of eskrima. The mask, as always, was the last to go on. Regardless of the fact that he was still feeling queasy, he had a job to do. Maybe he could puke up on The Penguin?

He kissed each girl tenderly on the lips and smiled as they squirmed happily in the dark. A note on the fridge door later (saying that he would call them, though he never would) and he was swinging out of the window into the bright lights and dark shadows of Gotham City. Unlike Batman, he never left his personal life behind him. Passion would have to do for now, but it didn't stop him from wanting love.

So, opinions? There is a third chapter waiting in the wings, but it is entirely dependant on reviews, so give me some incentive! :D MC. xx