Sea and Sky:


by 'rith

As promised. *g*

Archive: Ask first, please.
Warnings: Sweaty m/m sex. Very sweaty m/m sex.
Fandom: Modern comicsverse. S&S series. The previous parts can be found at
Disclaimer: All characters property of DC Comics. What I have done with them is mine.
Thanks: This is for Becky, who loved the image as much as I did. And for Alestar, *smooch*, she knows why.
Timing: Set roughly a year from current S&S storyline. (Help!! Future bunny attack!!). Maybe they'll let me get back to PLOT now. *eyes boys thoughtfully* On the other hand this ain't so bad....

At this point, the guys have moved out of Clancy's building into a place of their own.

With a whole brand-new gym at his disposal, the only thing to do was break it in. Hard. And that meant working himself hard, not just the usual maintenance routine but the whole nine yards. Stretching to warm up the muscles. Weight-training. Running. A round of floor exercises to a driving beat, the horse, the parallel bars, the rings...and then finally, to reward himself, the high uneven bars.

Always his favorites, aside from the trapeze that really would be too impractical here. A real test of speed and strength: Dick Grayson versus gravity with only two thin lengths of wood to keep him flying, spinning, flipping over and over between them, forgetting the ground. The world narrowed to constant motion, the slow delicious burn of effort in his muscles, and the sound of hands connecting with the bars to propel him into the next sequence.

The only thing missing was the roar of the crowd in response, but that was an old longing; and besides, he had all the appreciative audience he could want in Garth.

"Appreciative" was one way to describe Garth's reaction when Dick went up and over in a final pass, spun, and landed in the classic performer's stance: feet together, arms up, and ready to receive tribute in the form of applause.

He got considerably more than that.


He'd come in to watch Dick work out, tired for the moment of reading through the piles of legalese involved in the dozens of treaties, contracts, and settlements now being generated between Atlantis and the surface. The penalty for doing your job too well, he sometimes thought wryly, and was only grateful that he hadn't been required to get a law degree to keep up with it. A number of sharp young Atlantean diplomats were doing just that, so all he really had to do was review terms to stay current.

The gym they'd assembled was really more for Dick's benefit than his own; he needed the specialized weight equipment at Titans' Tower to stretch himself. It was more than worth the space to be able to see *this,* Dick doing one of the things he truly loved best--aside from roof-diving and sex, of course, other kinds of acrobatics. Beauty in motion, all grace and lithe dexterity and daring, throwing himself blithely from bar to bar seemingly heedless of his own safety. Joy in every line and sinew of him.

It stunned him, every time. No matter how often Garth had seen it, watching Dick *move* like this left him breathless. He looked wild, fey, a creature of air who was meant to fly, never touching earth. Garth had confessed once that seeing this had made him feel even more clumsy on the ground, out of his element. Dick only laughed and said, well, how d'you think I feel seeing you in water? Same thing, lover, I'm completely hopeless in your world. And the familiar passion sparking in his eyes when he said, I can't believe you'd leave something you love so be with me.

Dear Pallais. As if the sacrifices Garth had made weren't rewarded a thousandfold in being here, in this house, and having Richard Grayson in his bed and in his life.

So he watched, and marveled, and let his senses drink it in. The sight of that body in motion, of course, clad only in brief and very tight shorts. The sounds of Dick's breathing--carefully even, the measured cadence of a trained gymnast--and the thump of his hands against the bars. Too high up to touch or taste, but--

Garth could smell him, even across the room. With the hours of exercise and hard exertion, Dick's own scent was nearly overwhelming to Atlantean senses.


He closed his eyes for a moment and just breathed, savoring it. A slight change in the rhythm of sounds and he looked again to see Dick beginning his final routine, spinning faster and faster on the bars until he let go, falling shockingly fast and perfectly in control. He landed and stood there panting, flushed, *dripping* with sweat.

It was times like this that Garth was very, very glad they had decided to move out of Clancy's building and find their own place, with no one to hear...and no cameras to turn off, as in the Tower. No interruptions. No *waiting.*

Garth crossed the floor to him.


Almost as soon as he'd landed Garth was standing in front of him, giving him an intent *look* that made him flush all the way down to his feet. Garth reached out...and slowly, deliberately drew a finger down his chest. Looked at it. Brought his hand to his mouth...and *tasted.*

Dick cleared his throat with some difficulty. "So how do I taste?"

Flash of a wicked grin. "Good enough to eat."

God, he couldn't believe he was still capable of blushing after all this time, but Garth managed to bring it out of him somehow. Still, a guy had a reputation to maintain. "Oh, yeah? You giving up the veggie lifestyle?"

"I'm always willing to make an exception in your case."

He shivered ("with antici...pation!" some perverse corner of his mind cackled) and thanked heaven for Saturdays. "Let me go shower--"

"Oh, no." Garth leaned forward and Dick felt the quick brush of tongue against his cheek. "I like his flavor."

"Marinated in my own juices, huh?" Dick managed, joking, because the only other alternative was to just start begging for it.


He looked into amethyst eyes, shining with amusement and desire. "Yeah?"

"Shh. No talking." Garth leaned in again, breathing in deeply, his mouth barely touching the skin over Dick's collarbone. Flicker-flick of tongue again. And then, quite seriously, "Moaning is perfectly all right, though. I love the sounds you make."

Oh, yeah, he could do that. Easy. Harder *not* to make noise, and anyway, Garth enjoyed hearing it....

He let his head fall back to the insistent movement of Garth's lips over his neck. Really *tasting* him, licking at the sweat there. Tracing over his skin inch by inch, not missing a drop. Dick tilted his head, inviting, and Garth's mouth fastened briefly, sucking not quite hard enough to bruise. *That,* they saved for places that wouldn't show. The slight tenderness of skin under clothing could be a reminder of what caused it, the mark of his lover's passion like a symbol of willing possession between them. Lovingly given and gratefully taken.

Poetic, Dick thought, and gasped as the clasp of teeth over his earlobe brought his concentration intensely back to here-and-now. Standing nearly naked in *their* gym, in *their* house, while his lover seemed determined to taste every part of him. Things just didn't get any better than this.

Garth's mouth slid over his face, brushing across his lips, and he leaned into that touch. He reached out to pull Garth closer and had his arms moved firmly back to his sides. If Garth just wanted him to stand here and take it...

...that was fine by him. It was just one of the games they played as the mood struck. Another time it'd be his turn to reduce Garth to moans and desperate pleading...which was where he'd almost certainly be in short order. Still, he could tease. He let his tongue dart out to lick at the corner of Garth's mouth. Garth paused, raised his hands to thread in Dick's hair, and kissed him. Hard, demanding, and long enough to leave Dick panting when he finally drew back.

"Brat," Garth murmured, and Dick grinned.

Garth's mouth drifted down again, licking at the line of his jaw. Dropping to kiss his chest, following the muscled lines. Unhurriedly circling until his tongue almost casually swiped across a nipple, coaxing first a gasp and then a long moan out of Dick's mouth when he did it again.

He was so sensitive there it was almost embarrassing. Garth took ruthless advantage of the fact, licking and biting with gentle teeth until his nipples ached and he was twisting where he stood. Groaning and fighting to keep his hands at his sides and not on Garth's skin, under Dick's "Gotham Knights" T-shirt Garth was stretching out of shape around his broader chest. That had become a pattern: Dick would buy the shirt, that *particular* shirt, and after he wore it once or twice Garth would steal it for his own. And Garth wouldn't let Dick get him a bigger one. So he'd replace it, and after one or two wearings....

(He'd finally asked why. And Garth had said, simply, "It smells like you. And I like feeling you tight around me." Which, as soon as Dick had picked his jaw up off the floor, had led to a truly marathon weekend of sex wherein Dick had done his best to recreate that feeling in every way possible.)

Of course, Dick had absolutely no complaints about watching his lover walk around in a skintight shirt. Given their line of work, it was almost a requirement.

Meanwhile, in the here and now, it was about all he could to keep breathing. He shivered with the sensations and Garth followed the movement, chasing a bead of sweat that had wandered down his side. Another moment and Garth was kneeling, sending a whisper of breath across his stomach. Tongue dipping in to taste his bellybutton. Dick let out a slow exhalation of breath. Garth's lips teasing along the waistband of his shorts...and sliding down to mouth him though the fabric. He groaned and fought the urge to thrust forward, wanting to let Garth take his time, let the tension build. Except his shorts were getting tighter by the second.

As if he'd read the thought, Garth let his hands settle on Dick's hips and carefully slid the fabric down. His head bent again to lick at the crease between leg and groin, Dick's erection nudging at his cheek. Garth's hands resting on his ass, caressing. Dick took a deep gulping breath, anticipating--

Garth stopped, smiled up at him, and stood.

His vocabulary had gone way south, just like all his attention. "Uh...?"

"Not yet." Garth led him over to the pommel horse and braced him against it, his stomach against the leather. And started again. Dick locked his knees and threaded his arms through the horse's rings so he wouldn't fall, and hung on while Garth explored his body with meticulous concentration. Mouth at the back of his neck, licking over his shoulder blades, tracing down his spine one vertebra at a time. Torturously slow.

Lips whispering over the sensitive skin of his buttocks. A kiss to his tailbone, sliding down, and Garth's hands on his ass again and spreading.

Flick of tongue over his anus. He gasped. It returned for slow leisurely strokes, teasing and deliberate, up into the crack of his ass and down over his testicles, tasting, sucking, licking and *ah, God!* blinding white light behind his eyes when Garth slid his tongue inside.

He heard himself whimpering "please, please--" and didn't care, not too proud to beg for more. Garth's tongue danced inside him, slick and hot. Too good, too much stimulation. His hips bucked forward reflexively, cock thrusting against the leather. He did it again, this time on purpose, because it felt too good not to.

Garth's mouth withdrew. "Oh, no you don't." He was turned gently so that he faced forward again, and looked down. Garth was kneeling in front of him again, classic positioning, except about the last thing Dick felt was in control. And that was a very, very good thing.

He watched Garth lean forward and felt Garth's tongue brush the tip of his penis, a fleeting touch, gathering the fluid there. He moaned and heard Garth chuckle.

Dick leaned back against the horse, back arched, eyes closed, all his awareness focused on *feeling* Garth's mouth explore him with exquisite thoroughness. Slow drag of tongue over his cock, ghost of a touch over his balls. Slow slide of Garth's hands over his ass and a finger dipping down to tease at his entrance. He was pleading continuously now, broken whispers and hoarse groans that weren't in any language at all but whose meaning was unmistakable nonetheless: more, please, more, don't stop, I want, I need, I love you and for the love of God *suck* me...!

Slow deliberate lick in response, tasting the fluid that was dripping steadily from him now. Dick moaned and thrust his hips forward, blindly seeking. Hands on his hips firmly moved him back into place and a low whine escaped his throat. Garth started again, tongue sketching a lazy pattern over his sensitized skin. Tracing the veins on the underside of his cock, Garth's lips leaving burning kisses on the inside of Dick's thighs and returning to glide across his aching length from base to tip and back again. Garth's hand dropped down unexpectedly to stroke firmly over his foot, that sensitive spot on his instep that seemed to connect directly to his cock, and he almost lost it right there. Breathed into the sensation instead and tried not to yowl like a cat in heat.

Yowled anyway when Garth leaned in and swallowed him in one smooth movement, no hesitation at all. He thrust forward again and this time Garth let him, taking him easily, drawing him deeper into wet suctioning heat.

The pulse of his throat and movement of his tongue underneath and Dick was coming, shouting, eyes open and staring unseeing at the ceiling while every neuron fired and overfired. His knees buckled and he would have collapsed except for Garth's hands on his hips holding him, steadying him.

He slowly slipped down until he ended up half-sitting in Garth's lap on the floor, head resting against his shoulder. Dick wriggled a little, grinning at the feel of Garth's erection against his hip. "Give...give me a minute, and I'll return the favor."

He could feel Garth smiling against his skin. "Robbie, do me a favor first?"

As if he ever had to ask. "Anything."

A breath of suppressed laughter. "Take a shower, you stink."