"Some party, huh?" Fuck, if it wasn’t the perfect man himself, Dick Grayson, with a suave grin on his face, strands of his hair falling over his forehead. It’s the way he carried himself, with grace, charm, and the only man who could intoxicate a woman by being a gentleman just as one’d do as a bad boy— oh, it was exhilarating, the way he’d treat you.

You’d say it wasn’t like you’d never met a guy like him before— you literally hadn’t. Sure, he was one of your best friends, but he was also charismatic, sexy and just mm. Kind of objectifying. And he, in Dick Grayson fashion, was acting like he wasn’t the beau of the fucking ball — not actually a ball, it was a party hosted by Bruce for Jason’s birthday — in a tight button up. Shit.

Ugh, those panty-dropping, leg-spreading grins. He was born with superhuman gentlemanliness, a way of talking and handling ladies that made your head spin. Desperate? Certainly, who wouldn’t be? It’s Dick Grayson. You couldn’t stop getting drunk off him.

Fuckin’ hormones.

“You doin’ alright in this setting?” He grimaced a little at the sight of the rows of liquor, though he made you high on every flash of baby blues. Guess Jay really liked his hard alcohol, and— fuck, you’d swoon with how he grinned easily at you, eyes gentle, kind and his fuckin’ everything.

You wouldn’t survive, not with the way he was biting his lip as he looked at you. And was he a bad boy, like the stereotypes? No, he was a flat out intoxicating gentleman.