#dick thread: valentines with max

[dramatisperscnae]

Max has spent way too fucking long trying to get herself to look the way she envisioned—her hair, her makeup, the (very small amount of) clothes. It all has to be perfect. But she manages, because Dick is out, and that gave her time. Finally happy with everything, she snaps a couple of pictures and texts Dick.

[Dickiebird]: Happy Valentine’s Day! I got you a present :) [Dickiebird]: When are you coming back to unwrap it? [Dickiebird]: image.png

The picture is her favorite of the selfies taken using a mirror to get her entire body in the frame. Max is wearing some new lingerie she hasn’t told him about beneath an undone button-up shirt of Dick’s. She’d happened across it online and just hadn’t been able to resist. The colours were just too perfect. Hopefully he’ll think so too.

[Valentines for the boys!! || accepting]

It's not unheard of for Dick to sit in on Wayne Enterprises meetings. He's had to deal with running the company before - and he'd hated it then - but sometimes Bruce gets an injury that simply cannot be explained away by a playboy's taste for extreme sports. That's not the frustrating bit.

The frustrating bit is that it had to be on Valentine's Day.

He'd actually wanted to take Max out to Robinson Park for a picnic lunch, try to get her back in the sunlight, but so much for that plan. She hadn't seemed all that upset by his having to leave, sure, but that doesn't make leaving his girlfriend alone on Valentine's Day any easier. At least they'll still have that evening; Dick's spent most of his meeting considering what kind of dinner he's going to make her.

Max's message, very fortunately, comes right at the end of the meeting; a blessing for Dick who, after staring at the picture for a few seconds longer than is strictly wise in a business setting, is out of his chair and headed for the door with an airy call of "Excellent work today, gentlemen, thank you!" that could have put Brucie Wayne to shame.

The second he's in the hallway with no one else to see he's replying to that text.

[text: Rapunzel] I'll be home in ten minutes.

[dramatisperscnae]

This. This is perfect. Well, perfect for now; it'll get better later, once she's bare against him and he's bare against her and there's nothing but skin between them, but for right now this is perfect.

Dick leans against her, melting a little further with each mark she leaves on his neck and shoulder, reveling in the way her hands feel against his skin, soft and warm. He just needs that corset off, that's the first step towards what he wants, but before he can do more than find the zipper Max is pulling his hands away. Breath soft and ragged he looks up at her in confusion, not arguing but waiting - just as told - for an explanation or some other sign of why she's stopped him.

It doesn't take long in coming.

He shifts backwards as she slides off the back of the couch and now it's his turn to stare as she doesn't look away. As she sinks to her knees in front of him. As she reaches for his belt.

Oh god.

He's actually all but forgotten what she'd said during their first night together, but the memory comes flooding back and his hands grip the back of the couch in response. Oh god. And now she's looking up at him so sweetly, wearing next to nothing beneath one of his shirts and asking him almost shyly and oh god.

It takes him a second to answer; he has to swallow to get moisture back into a mouth that's suddenly gone dry before he nods. "…Yeah…" Oh fuck yes she can. If she wants to take the lead right now Dick is not going to argue.

Max is having a fantastic time exactly where she is, sucking and biting marks onto Dick’s throat, his hands warm against her skin. It’s even better once his shirt and vest/waistcoat/whatever are off and her own hands are free to smooth along his chest, his stomach, his shoulders, his back—anywhere and everywhere she pleases. And while, any other day, she would be happy to let him undo her corset, to get undressed even further, she tugs his hands away before he gets the chance.

Because she has an idea.

It’s something she’s been wanting to do since their first night together. And, hell, it’s Valentine’s Day. What better time than now, right? So, she stops him, and she says, “Wait,” and she flushes lightly as she unhooks her ankles and nudges Dick back a little. Enough that she’s able to slide off the back of the couch to her feet, and then sink to her knees in front of him, not breaking eye contact until her hands move to his belt.

She moves to undo it before stopping herself. Hesitating. Looks back up at him for permission, a somewhat shy smile on her face. “…Can I?” She’s taking the lead a little more than she usually does, and she wants to make sure that’s okay.

[dramatisperscnae]

Max has never struck him as the type to leave marks before. Sure they've not slept together but maybe a handful of times thus far, but she's always seemed so careful, so intent on not marking him; even when her nails drag down his back it's never hard enough to leave traces.

Clearly he's been wrong.

Her teeth sink into his skin and he can't help the way his breath shudders, his hands going to the couch momentarily to brace himself. Dick loves being marked, as much or possibly even more than he loves doing the marking, and it could not be more clear. His eyes are soft when he looks up at her, vulnerable, wanting. "Yours…"

Because he is. He is hers, as much as she is his, and if someone happens to see that mark she left later then let them. He'll wear it proudly. He leans into her touch, hands leaving the couch to help with the buttons of his vest and the shirt below. Too much fabric, too much in the way. He needs her touch, needs to touch her in return; as soon as the shirt and vest hit the floor his hands are back on her body, stroking and caressing and reaching up to unfasten that lovely little corset she's wearing.

Oh, but revenge is sweet. And feels really fucking good, too. Just kissing his neck like that elicits such a reaction? It’s a heady feeling, making someone else feel that good. Making Dick feel that good with only the press of her lips and the light scraping of teeth. She is absolutely going to use this knowledge to her advantage, both now and in the future.

She shivers as he starts touching her more, presses into him. And the second she has his permission, she’s back at it, lips brushing against the skin of his throat until she decides on a spot near the base of it. Sucking and biting less gently than before, she teases a mark into existence.

Once she’s finished, she pulls back just enough that she can look at it. Eyes darken as she lightly brushes her thumb over it. “Mine.” Dick is taken. Dick is hers, and now no one will be able to deny that. With a satisfied hum and smile, she leans back in to start on another.

He wants her to mark him up—who is she to deny him?

As she works, she slides her hands down his chest, fingers feeling for the buttons of his…vest? Waistcoat? Whatever the fuck it’s called, she doesn’t really care. It’s in her way, so it, and the shirt beneath it, need to go. Or at least be unbuttoned so she can reach the skin beneath; something she gets started on as soon as she finds the first button.

[dramatisperscnae]

His arms tighten around her, cheeks already faintly flushed as her laugher echoes in his ear. It's a good laugh, light and musical and happy, and he can't even be mad at her for it. Neither can he actually protest much as she pushes his head away, though there is just the briefest moment when he's worried he's pushed too far.

That worry is dispelled immediately by the fingers in his hair, tugging gently. He doesn't argue with her - couldn't if he tried, honestly - and lets his neck arch again. Her lips are so soft against his skin, her fingers in his hair sending gentle shivers down his spine, the occasional scrape of her teeth adding sparks to that.

Dick presses closer, each kiss pulling a quiet gasp or delighted shiver from him. God, she really isn't playing fair now, is she? And how can he blame her, really; he'd be doing the same thing in her place. Hell, he has.

Her question makes him shiver again, Dick barely able to nod; if he moves his head too much she might stop. "Yes…please…" his voice is already breathless, his hands gliding over her skin beneath the shirt; he needs to touch, to reciprocate somehow. "Please…"

She can’t help but laugh at his reaction, breathy and delighted, eyes bright as she grins. Well, isn’t that just a fun little nugget of information for her to have. Max keeps her legs wrapped around him when she’s set on the back of the couch, ankles hooked to keep Dick close. With a shudder, she presses her lips together to keep a noise of her own silent.

He only gets to leave the one mark before she’s pressing a hand to his forehead and pushing his head back. “Nuh uh.” Her hand shifts to card through his hair, fingers tugging just the slightest bit, trying to encourage him to arch his neck again. “It’s my turn.”

Because so far he’s figured out a number of things that she likes, and Max feels like she only knows a couple of his. Maybe that makes her selfish, or greedy, but it’s not like they’ve actually slept together all that many times. And Max never really experienced the amount of attention he lavishes her with until now—sue her for soaking it in.

But she wants to make him feel just as good as he makes her feel. And if his neck is as sensitive as she thinks it might be, she figures that’s probably a good place to start. Her hand still in his hair, fingers scraping gently against his scalp, she starts pressing more open-mouthed kisses to his throat. “…Can I leave marks, or no?”

[dramatisperscnae]

She is perfectly distracting with her kiss, Dick paying far more attention to the woman in his arms than to just where his feet are taking them. He's got the layout of the penthouse memorized, sure, but that doesn't mean he won't walk into walls if his attention is sufficiently diverted. And Max seems intent on that.

He can feel her hands curl into his vest, knows his clothes are in the way - he wants to feel her nails against his back just as much as she wants to put them there - but removing his clothing means letting go and he's certainly not ready to do that yet.

And then Max really makes her move.

Dick grins into her kiss, leaning forward a little to follow her as she pulls back to brush one over his cheek, then down to his jaw, and then…

"Fuck, Max…!" His breath catches at the first bite, his neck arching to give her better access as he bites back a quiet moan. Dick's neck has always been incredibly sensitive, which makes this absolutely cheating as far as he's concerned…even though Max hasn't actually tried anything like this before. He almost does walk them into a wall; well, into the couch, anyway. Perching Max on the back of it he leans in to return the favor by suckling a small mark just at the base of her neck.

Like the chocolate (which she can still taste on him), she melts into the kiss, shifting to wind her arms around his neck instead, as she pushes up onto her toes so he doesn’t have to lean down as far. Kissing is good. Familiar. Hinting at something more than what they’ve done up until now, but it’s still slow, unhurried. Like they’ve got all night.

Which, she supposes, they do. Along with the evening and part of the afternoon. She shivers—that gives them time to do all sorts of things.

Her arms tighten, legs wrapping around his waist automatically when he picks her up. She grins; straight to business, it seems, if they’re heading to the bedroom already. Not that she’s in any way complaining. “Better not rip it, then.”

And then she goes back to kissing him, doing her best to be distracting. He knows his way to the bedroom, so she can be a little bit of a nuisance, right?

As good as he looks in this suit, it really is terribly in the way—she knows how much he enjoys when she scratches up his back, but she can’t get much lower than his collar, at the moment. So she tries a different tactic.

She presses one last kiss to his lips, then one to his cheek, before moving to the hinge of his jaw and slowly making her way down his neck from there. Kissing and biting and sucking wherever she can. Never enough to leave marks, just enough to tease.

Time to see how he likes it.

[dramatisperscnae]

It's been a few weeks since the alley. They've kissed, they've cuddled, there's been some mutual fondling, but Dick's let Max decide how far they go and how fast. That means there've been times when he's had to excuse himself to the bathroom to deal with things on his own, but he's not going to push her. He's never going to push her.

That's half of why he's watching her so closely. The lingerie, the picture, they're not anything he'd have expected from her at all, and now this…being pressed back against the kitchen counter could bring up unwanted memories, could call a halt to the entire proceeding.

It doesn't.

Her breath hitches but her eyes are still bright, cheeks still flushed, fingers curling into his belt to keep him close, and that's all the encouragement he needs. His hands tighten gently on her hips, resisting the impulse to tug at the strings keeping those pretty little panties up; all in good time.

"It's beautiful," he tells her, the quiet heat in his eyes growing slightly as she admits she'd bought it because of the colors. His colors. His Max, wearing his shirt and his colors.

God he loves her.

Leaning down he kisses her, slow and deep, as his arms slide more fully around her. Sure they could stay in the kitchen but that's hardly comfortable, is it? Picking her up he starts for the bedroom, whispering against her lips, "I'll have to remember to save this wrapping paper."

Max doesn’t get even a second to gather her wits again—Dick shuts the microwave without ever looking away from her. Jesus. And then he’s moving closer, crowding her against the counter, and her breath catches. Not in a bad way—this isn’t that alley, even if her mind flashes back there for the briefest of seconds. But Dick isn’t them and she isn’t there and that hitch in her breath was more out of excitement than anything else. She likes the way he’s got her, right now.

The anticipation is enough to make her heart race.

They haven’t…sure, they’ve made-out and fooled around a little since then, but Dick has never pushed her for more than she’s been comfortable for. So they haven’t actually had sex since the incident, and Max wants to. She really wants to. She feels like she’s ready to, again, and that picture she sent him, this lingerie, everything, is her trying to tell him that.

Fingers curl in his belt loops to keep him close, her heart hammering in her chest. “You like?” she asks, trying not to seem as flustered as she feels, despite how red she’s sure she is. “S’got your colours.” How could she not buy this set of lingerie when she’d seen it?

She bites her lip, glances back at the plate of strawberries again for a second. “The chocolate’s still—” Wet. “It’s still not—” Hard. Jesus Christ, she’s flustering herself. Clearing her throat, she valiantly tries again. “They can wait. If you want to unwrap first.”

[dramatisperscnae]

Whatever Max is trying to say goes entirely ignored in favor of admiring the blush now rising in her cheeks. Dick's always loved Max's blush - and how easy it is to make her blush - but the darkness of this one paired with the look on her face…

Oh yeah. He's proud of this one.

He doesn't bother hiding his smirk as he gets the last bit of chocolate off her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles and then squashing the desire to glower at the microwave for choosing right that second to beep and destroy the moment. Dammit.

Not that it'll be too difficult to recapture, though; not with Max wearing that outfit. Dick could not care less about the strawberries - he'd only bought them for her - but if she's gone to this much trouble he'll eat them anyway. His distaste for the damned things comes second to finding new ways to fluster his girlfriend, and chocolate covered strawberries can absolutely figure in those plans.

Without looking over he opens and then shuts the microwave to stop it beeping at them again, stepping forward to trap Max playfully against the counter. "Look who's talking," he replies, his hands sliding beneath her shirt - his shirt that she's wearing, god but he loves that - to rest lightly on her hips. "Should we have strawberries first, then? Before I get to unwrap my present…?"

She can’t stop the way her eyes rake over him as he walks toward her, lingering on that bit of chest she can see. God, he looks good. She wants to touch, and she can’t, because her hands still have chocolate on them. It’s downright unfair, and she is looking so, so respectfully. Max is the most respectful.

“I made straw…berries…” Anything else that might’ve been said dies in her throat as Dick starts licking the chocolate from her fingers, maintaining eye contact. Max can feel her face growing hot, absolutely flaming with a deep blush. Her lips part, mouth going dry.

(Good thing he’s cleaning the chocolate from her hand, because she doesn’t think she’ll be able to anymore.)

Holy shit, that is…really fucking hot. Widened eyes fall to his mouth, his lips, his tongue that’s just—she couldn’t look away if she wanted to. And she doesn’t.

Until the microwave beeps not much later, making her jump. Taking a shaky breath, she tries to pull a few working braincells out of the mush her mind has been so quickly reduced to. “Strawberries! I made…” She looks over her shoulder at the plate, before back at Dick. “They’re good,” she nods. “Tingly. You look…wow.”

[dramatisperscnae]

It is exceedingly difficult for Dick to actually focus on getting back to the penthouse. The amount of willpower it takes him not to steal repeated glances at that picture in his messages is almost absurd, honestly…not enough for her to wear one of his shirts, oh no, she's got that lingerie on under it. Honestly it's not fair.

By the time he's in the elevator up he's already unfastened the top two buttons on his shirt; she gave him something to admire, he might as well at least attempt to do the same, right? And he knows very well just what kind of effect a tailored waistcoat and slacks over a partially-unbuttoned dress shirt can have on a girl. Hopefully it's something Max enjoys.

His mind is already spinning countless possibilities by the time he steps into the penthouse to the scent of heated chocolate and a sudden surge of concern. What is Max doing in the kitchen??? But there's no smoke and nothing's on fire and nothing smells burnt and there she is, grinning at him and licking clearly-melted chocolate off a finger still dressed like that…

God, it's sinful.

Dick's steps slow for a moment as he fully takes in the picture in front of him. Then he joins her in the kitchen, reaching out to take her hand gently. "…Making a mess without me?" he teases, his eyes locked on hers as he lifts her hand to his mouth. "Let me help you clean up."

Those words are purred as he licks a bit of chocolate off her hand, never breaking eye contact. "Though you know you're sweet enough…you really don't need to add to…"

@dramatisperscnae from here

She knows he’s in meetings, that he most likely won’t be able to look at his phone right away. That he probably won’t be able to look at it for a while. So, in an attempt to not stress out about what he might think, about how he might react (she’s going to, anyways), she makes her way to the kitchen and starts digging around in the pantry, on the hunt for chocolate chips.

They have strawberries, right?

She’s in the middle of questioning why there are so many different types of chocolate chips when her phone vibrates with a message on the counter. Max lunges for it, despite no one else being there. Seeing his response, her face lights up. Teeth press into her lower lip as she writes back.

[text: Dickiebird] Better hurry [text: Dickiebird] Wouldn’t want me getting bored ;)

With a soft chuckle, she goes back to pondering her chocolate choices.

In the end, she goes with the semi-sweet kind. Dumps a bunch of them in a bowl and throws them in the microwave to melt them. It makes a little bit of a mess, but she uses the plate cover thingy, so the only thing that’s really going to need washing is that.

She hears the door when she’s about halfway through the carton of strawberries. The finished ones are sitting on a plate on the counter (less than she started with, as she had to taste test a few), the bowl of chocolate back in the microwave for about the fourth time (why does chocolate harden so fast?). One chocolate-covered finger is still in her mouth when she looks over at him—she pulls it out and grins, careful not to touch her clothing with the melted chocolate still on a few fingers. “Hey. Happy Valentine’s Day.”