The door clicks shut behind them, and the noise of the city drops away like a held breath finally released. Dick doesn’t turn the lights on right away. He leans back against the wood, jacket already discarded somewhere between laughter and the hallway, his pulse still sprinting from the ceremony, the dancing, the ring on his finger that keeps catching the light.

He looks at them like he’s starving.

His smile isn’t playful this time—too slow, too intent. The kind that promises he’s done being polite.

“So,” he murmurs, stepping closer, close enough that warmth bleeds between them. His hand lifts, not quite touching yet, hovering like he’s savoring the wait. “Guess this is the part where I stop pretending I’ve got any restraint left.”

He exhales a soft laugh, breath brushing skin as his forehead rests briefly against theirs. The world narrows. Hotel room. Distant traffic. The quiet thrum of mine settling into his chest.

“All day,” he continues, voice lower now, roughened at the edges, “I smiled for photos. Shook hands. Let people hug you when I wanted to pull you away and never give you back.” His thumb finally traces along their jaw, reverent and claiming all at once. “You have any idea how hard that was?”

He kisses them—slow at first, like he’s reminding himself to savor it—but the hunger snaps tight, controlled only by how carefully he cages them in, palms braced on either side. There’s heat in the kiss, promise layered over promise, his breath stuttering when he pulls back just enough to look.

“Yeah,” he admits quietly, eyes dark, pupils blown. “I’m hungry.”

His hands slide down, confident, familiar already in a way that feels new and dangerous, guiding them backward until the backs of their knees meet the bed. He doesn’t rush. That’s the cruel part. He takes his time, mouth skimming, murmuring against skin, letting anticipation coil tight.

“This is ours now,” he says, softer, grounding himself as much as them. His forehead presses to theirs again, breath uneven. “No alarms. No patrols. No running off into the night.”

A grin flickers—Nightwing’s, unmistakable—even as his hands tighten, pulling them closer. “Just you, me, and a very flimsy hotel bed that is absolutely not prepared for what I’ve got planned.”

He kisses them again, deeper, slower, the door to the rest of the night swinging wide open as the lights finally go dark.