Dick was not a heavy sleeper.

Years of alarms, comm calls, rooftop chases, and Jason kicking his door open at ungodly hours had trained him to wake at the slightest disturbance.

So the fact that he was still asleep that morning said everything about how exhausted he’d been.

And maybe a little about how safe he felt with you curled beside him.

Morning light spilled lazily across the room, warm on his skin, and the sheets were tangled low around his hips.

The first thing he realized was… you.

Soft kisses. Everywhere.

First his cheek—warm, lingering. Then another at the corner of his jaw. Then the slope of his neck, where you knew he was ticklish but also where he melted embarrassingly fast.

Then, as he inhaled slowly, your lips brushed along his collarbone, then his chest, tracing a line down his sternum in little affectionate bursts.

His brain caught up in pieces.

…She’s awake.

…She’s kissing me.

…This is definitely the best morning of my life.

He stayed still for a moment, not wanting to break the spell, letting you wander where you pleased—his stomach tightening when you pressed a kiss just above his navel, playful and sweet all at once. He could feel the faint puff of your breath on his skin, your hair brushing his ribs, your hands braced on either side of him as you shifted for a better angle.