Sea and Sky:
They're both reading, lying on opposite ends of the couch, and Dick's foot is in his lap. Comfortable. It wouldn't seem that the couch really has enough room for the both of them, but they fit well together. It's warm and cozy and blissfully lazy, and Garth thinks he might give in to the temptation to fall asleep. Except.
Dick's foot is moving slightly, as if twitching subliminally to the music blaring from one of the other apartments, sort of barely...stroking him. Randomly. "Accidentally."
But of course Dick does nothing by accident, tactician that he is. And Garth is suddenly very, very awake.
He clears his throat. "Dick?"
"Hmm?" Dick murmurs, not even looking up, as if he's totally unaware that his toes are now petting Garth's erection, gently tap-tapping up and down his length.
He breathes in, carefully, and tries for a steady tone. "Look what you've done."
"Oh," Dick says, guileless, "guess I'll have to do something about that." His eyes are dazzlingly clear and blue.
"Please," Garth barely manages, because his mouth has gone dry with the look Dick's giving him, and besides which Dick's foot hasn't stopped moving.
Dick smiles and sets his book aside, and there's something about the deliberateness of his movements that makes Garth shiver, anticipating. As if everything outside of this apartment, outside of this room even, has been put aside with the book, to be picked up later. Afterward.
It's slightly overwhelming to be the focus of all that concentration.
It's still slightly overwhelming to be *here,* period, because for all the years he'd known and loved Richard Grayson he'd never really believed this might happen. And it's become so much more than he'd ever thought possible. But he is, and it is, and Dick is...
Dick is contemplating him with the attention of a starving man at a sudden feast. He licks his lips, which might even be an unconscious reflex and not a studied tactic, and Garth has to bite back a moan. Because Dick's mouth is a temptation all its own. Watching him eat a banana is unbearably arousing. What he can do with a popsicle...is obscene.
Garth makes sure there are always popsicles in the freezer.
Dick moves suddenly, with a speed Garth could never hope to match on land. Between one second and the next he's gone from a comfortable sprawl at the other end of the couch to a comfortable sprawl on top of Garth himself, fitting so effortlessly there doesn't seem to be a centimeter of space between them. He radiates an utterly feline sense of satisfaction, lacking only a purr.
"It was a boring book anyway," Dick says, and kisses him.
"Just" a kiss. No such thing, where Dick is involved. He has a way of putting his whole attention into it, his whole *self,* demanding every bit of Garth's awareness in return. Not that anything exists, right this moment, beyond the taste of Dick's mouth and the feel of him draped over Garth like a second skin.
A vague irritation niggles at what remains of conscious thought. Something about...skin. Ah. There are still *clothes* in the way, and that's a barrier that can't be tolerated. Not much of an obstruction, considering their lazy-day wardrobe: t-shirts thin enough that he can feel Dick's muscles clearly delineated against his own, and Dick's brief shorts have been worn to virtual scraps. But Garth chose--obviously unwisely--to put on jeans this morning. They weren't particularly tight when he put them on, but now....
Now Dick undulates against him, demonstrating the uncanny perception that makes him both an accomplished leader and an extraordinary lover. He knows full well the effect he has on Garth, and exploits that 'vulnerability' to its full extent. He finally breaks the kiss, laughing against Garth's mouth. "Uncomfortable?"
"Squashed," Garth replies, letting his hands drift down, cupping the perfect curve of Dick's ass, pulling them even closer together to demonstrate.
"Mm. Better check that out for myself." After a quick kiss Dick begins to slither downward without breaking their full-body contact. Somehow in the process, Dick's shirt lands on the floor and Garth's is pushed up so that nothing gets in the way of the slide of skin over skin. It's one of those easy, impossible maneuvers Dick accomplishes without Garth having any idea how it was done, and he's not inclined to question it when the results so clearly benefit them both.
The slow drift of Dick's lips across his chest only adds to the urgency, particularly when Dick's sinuous, clever tongue wraps around a nipple and tugs. Garth moans, subtly encouraging. Dick hesitates, then bites down. It's taken Dick awhile to get used to that, his own nipples are so sensitive, but whether due to physiology or simple variation, Garth's aren't. The delicious pinch of slightly ungentle teeth more than compensates for any lack. It isn't about pain; Atlantean skin doesn't bruise that easily. It's just a different sensation, sharply arousing, and the shock of it goes straight to his groin.
Dick wriggles again, deliberately provoking, demonstrating his utter control over the situation. He knows, they both know, how easily Garth could reverse the dynamic here. It would take only the smallest fraction of his strength to flip them over, pinning Dick to the couch in his place. It's a measure of the balance in their relationship that Garth has no intention of doing that, and Dick knows that too.
He feels Dick smile against his skin in acknowledgement and receives another bite as some kind of reward, maybe, before Dick shimmies down another inch and starts outlining the muscles over Garth's ribs with his tongue. It's times like this that Garth is glad, so very glad that he's not particularly ticklish. The unhurried pace gives them both time to concentrate on every sensation, given and received.
Eventually Dick works his way down to Garth's navel, runs his tongue along the outside, slips inside, and rims it again. It's unbelievably, stunningly erotic. The action summons memories of other times, facedown on the bed with Dick's tongue playing inside him, making him hot, making him groan and bury his face in the pillows to keep from crying out and-- as Dick puts it-- 'scaring the neighbors.' Perversely, Dick enjoys doing his best to evoke exactly that response, and doesn't himself care how much noise they make together. Or rather, Dick doesn't restrain himself and the expression of his passions. It's only one of the things Garth loves about him.
A final swipe at his navel and then Garth finds himself holding his breath as Dick starts to unbutton his jeans. With his teeth.
There's a pause in the action.
"God, I love it when you go commando."
Garth laughs breathlessly while Dick's mouth continues on its inexorable path and his clever, seemingly prehensile toes tug Garth's jeans downward, inch by inch. Too, too slow.
Time to move the process along.
He bucks up, pushing the offending clothing off as quickly as he can, shoving down with his hands and struggling to pull the pants off with his own clumsy toes, legs tangling with Dick's in the process. Dick laughs and rides him like a surfer on a cresting wave, never letting his lips leave Garth's skin. Garth feels suction on his hipbone as the jeans finally, mercifully, fall to the floor. He doesn't bruise easily, but he'd be pleased to wear Dick's mark on him. Though Dick hardly needs to stake his claim in a visible manner.
At last Dick is positioned where he clearly meant to be all along, somehow settled comfortably between Garth's legs despite the lack of room at the other end of the couch. An acrobat's flexibility, Garth thinks with amusement, and forgets to follow the thought when Dick whispers, "Lift up."
Garth arches his back, displaying himself, feeling utterly exposed. He spreads his legs farther apart without being asked, knowing what Dick wants, what he wants.
The fine silken brush of Dick's hair against the inside of his thighs makes him gasp even before warm breath and the touch of a wet tongue steal his breath entirely. For a moment he's completely forgotten how to breathe, and it's irrelevant in comparison to the way he needs to feel every nuance of Dick's touch.
Dick plays his tongue over the thin strip of skin behind his testicles and Garth moans and trembles with the motion. That spot there, so very sensitive, he could come just from that. And has, when Dick's dancing tongue or fingers lingered too long either by accident or by design. His hands go back over his head, clutching at the arm of the couch, and he has to remember not to shred the fabric under his tensing fingers.
He thinks about begging. "Dick...."
That's as far as he gets before Dick snickers, licks at Garth's erection like an ice-cream cone, and smirks up at him. "I'd say so."
He's aware of the jokes about Dick's name, could hardly have missed them being around Roy all those years. The absurdity usually doesn't register unless he's consciously thinking about it or unless Dick himself makes a point of the joke. But he's too impatient to laugh about it now.
He growls, "Suck me," because Dick likes hearing it. Dick grins, and does, and it's...
Dick sometimes laughs about the fact that he's so much more vocal than Garth is in the same situation, but that's only because Garth really, truly is overwhelmed by the sensations. It's too much for words or even sounds to express. And besides, there's barely a faint distance between a whimper and a scream once things have really heated up, and they don't need Clancy or--Pallais-forbid--John Law pounding on their door, demanding to know who was being murdered. So for the most part Garth swallows his cries and instead focuses on not tearing the arm off the couch as his fingers clench, release, clench again in time with the suction of Dick's mouth.
Not soon enough and too soon the tension and pressure build to the inevitable crescendo. The sound escapes him, merely a whisper, as Dick swallows and his throat pulses and all of Garth's strength leaves him in that final rush of heat.
He'll begin to think about reciprocation (payback?) in a minute, when he's quite sure he can move again. Dick catches his eye, the smug self-satisfaction on his face more revealing than any quip.
"Someday," Dick says conversationally, "we need to get our own place. And then I want to hear how much noise you can really make."
There's so much implicit in that simple declaration, precisely mirroring his previous thoughts. Garth breathes in carefully and then sits up, reaching to draw Dick forward and into a kiss full of as much promise as he can imply. A blissful eternity later Dick pulls back, gasping a little. "Wooo. Either I'm better than I thought or you *really* like that idea."
"Both." And he's not certain if Dick meant it as a joke, but... "Do you think we should? Move out, I mean. Maybe a townhouse--"
"A real house," Dick says firmly, "with a pool and room for a gym and we'll start looking next weekend."
So entirely like him, to decide on a plan in an instant. Dick's enthusiasm completely captures Garth's senses and he can already see it, *their* home. Still: "All that so I don't have to be quiet?"
"Can you think of a better reason?"
"No," Garth says, and gently pushes Dick backward on the couch to prove that *he* isn't the one in this relationship, after all, with the lack of vocal control.