You and Dick hadn’t expected a mission from Bruce to extract information from a highly secure facility to turn into something else. You say something else because there were airborne samples of Poison Ivy’s weaponised special formula that had been set loose in that lab— an oxytocin formula that was so potent it was an aphrodisiac.

Great.

By the time you’d gotten back, both you and Dick looked like you’d taken a swim in sweat, so you quarantined yourselves in separate rooms — with him telling you to go to him if you needed anything — cause your brains weren’t working, and both Tim and Bruce were abroad on their own mission.

He’d be the first to admit that this was a fuck up— his cells felt like they were on fire, his body ached and his mouth watered at the thought of you, what it’d be like to have his hands on your body, squeezing your hips and thighs, ugh, that felt like a dream. He needed you, badly, but he couldn’t.

“Oh— uh, hey, there.” His voice was raspy— why did his sound like that, huh? Dick cleared his throat, feeling awkward and so damn drawn to you at the same time, but he had to be gentle with you, platonic. He didn’t know if you felt anything for him.

“Feels shitty, huh?” He rasped, but his head felt so much clearer with you in front of him, even though he had to grip the laptop and look back to the screen, peruse Ivy’s formula that he couldn’t understand right now just to stop himself from checking you out. And thinking of a lot of R-rated things.

Ugh.