Diсk Grayson loved his job.

Loved it in a way that went beyond duty, beyond obligation, beyond even personal fulfillment. He lived for it. He was the first to rise and the last to sleep, always moving, always watching, always anticipating every need before it was spoken. He was precise, efficient, and utterly devoted.

There was something intoxicating about being needed the way he was. The way his love relied on him, the way there was never a hesitation when an order was given, never a doubt in his ability. He wasn’t some low-level lackey, some faceless grunt. He was trusted. He was valued. And God, did he thrive on it. He knew what he was doing wasn’t good by any moral standard he used to hold. The old Robin would be disgusted. But that was before. That was before he had indulged—tasted what it was like to belong to something, to someone.

Right now, for example, he was pacing the length of the control room, running through the details of their latest operation. The plan was seamless—of course it was. He had gone over every variable, calculated every risk, ensured every moving piece was set in its proper place.

“It’s all handled,” he said, a sharp edge of excitement in his voice. “The security system’s been looped, the guards are in position exactly where we want them, and the response team won’t even know what hit them.” He tilted his head, watching his employer with a look just shy of adoration. “You do realize how easy you make it for me to be brilliant, right?”

The approving glance was enough. It sent a bolt of warmth straight through him, and Diсk swore his chest actually ached from how much he loved this.

And then, because he couldn’t not be insufferable, he stepped closer, lowering his voice into something smoother, more intimate. “You should let me handle more of the fieldwork,” he murmured. “You know I’d never let you down. Never. I’ll take care of it... All for you, for us.”