Arranged Marriage - Distance (A Nightwing/Dick Grayson Fanfiction)

Thirty One: Soft Hair Rough Hands

"Hey."

When he finally gets to my office I'm gripping a water bottle in my hand crushed to oblivion. I hear the external door of Mai's side click shut, indicating that she has left. 

"Shut the door," I tell him, back still turned with my eyes on the city. He murmurs an 'okay' and pushes it closed with a thunk. He doesn't say anything as he walks through the office, but his footsteps stop at the desk which I'm standing behind. 

I swallow thickly and manage to keep my voice level, "Take your clothes off." I can't think of a better way to proposition him. 

'Hey, wanna have sex on the desk?' or 'Hey, at the moment you're the only thing I like about this city. Can you kindly remove your clothing and lay on the table?'

Yeah, no. 'Take your clothes off' is the only invitation he needs.

When he doesn't say anything, I glance over my shoulder. He's standing a few yards behind me in jeans, a plain shirt and a jacket. He looks mystified, jerking his head back. I give a little nod and he catches onto why I really asked him here.

"What? In here?" He gestures around with a bewildered tone.

"Can't think of a better place."

"Our bed maybe?" 

Irritated by his sudden opposition, I turn back around, ready to tell him to get out. At least I'd like to, but something about being in here by myself just isn't as appealing as usual. So instead I end up gritting me teeth and casting my gaze away. That's enough to hint I'm not all together.

"What's going on?" His tone softens and I cringe, the images flickering by like shadows again.

I throw the water bottle to the side and march up to him. He flinches a bit when I lean up to his face, "I've had these images in my head," I make some sort of stupid gesture to my head, "all day."

Help me. 

"Get. Them. Out."

Whether it's the desperation in my eyes or the proposition itself, I pretend not to know, but he's convinced. There's a sense of reluctance in his face but I can't find the guilt in me. He gives a little sigh, shuts his eyes and seems to mull over the idea of having sex for no other reason than taking my mind off of something.

He opens them, "Okay."

An arm slips around my waist and he turns, pulling me with him. He lifts me onto the left side of the desk. I grasp his jacket and push it off his shoulders. He helps as he kisses me, flinging it behind him before he takes a step closer and pulls my knee up to his hip.

The contrast is strange as he takes his shirt off and I run my hands down his chest. Plump lips, hard chest. Soft hair, rough hands.

Those hands get to work on my own blouse and I reach for his fly. As soon as it's undone he pushes me back so that I'm laying on the desk. He climbs up and looms over me with a renewed p smile.

"I should've guessed you'd done this before," I tease.

"On tables," he agrees, "but not desks."

"Oh cause they're so different," I pull him back down to me before he can laugh, because it'll make me laugh. He throws my top over his head to join his clothes.

I internally dare him to bite me or leave any kind of mark as revenge for this morning when he moves down to my neck, but he doesn't. I'm a little disappointed but he more than makes up for it in the soft kisses as he helps pull my skirt down.