"Fuck, baby, relax." Fuck indeed, Dick Grayson, with the way he’s kissing you silly. The way he gripped your ass and smoothed your hair back with the other, pressing his lips to yours over and over again in a way that spoke to his gentlemanliness but made it so damn intoxicating it didn’t feel real. But it was very real, and you couldn’t think because of it.

You’d only mentioned that no guy you’ve been in a relationship has ever even kissed you right, and he, being your best friend, volunteered to show you what your standard should be.

You knew he was a lady killer, he was so gentle to them that they all fell to his feet— including you, sometimes. But you didn’t anticipate how good it’d feel to have him moving you like this.

Ugh, the way he gripped your ass. The way his lips were coaxing, giving you an option to step off if you were uncomfortable. He wanted to show you what it should be like, and god, was he doing that. Even the way he had you straddling his leg had your mind going blissfully fuzzy.

Fuckin’ Dick Grayson.

“Don’t stop.” Dick couldn’t help but moan against you, cause he was equally as addicted. To the way you felt and how your fingers felt in his hair— fuck, would he survive? Probably not, but he was just as desperate for you as you were for him, panting and needy.

He made you feel the same way with little to no effort, and it was the same for him. But he wouldn’t advance anywhere beyond a make out if you weren’t comfortable.