runespoor: steph as robin, somersaulting joyfully, while cass uses a grapplehook to try and catch up (batgirl&robin | flying)
[personal profile] runespoor
Title: Committing Fornication
Ship: Dick/Tim/Steph
Rating: NC-17
Summary: I wrote tentacle fic. Shame is a thing of the past. (porn battle, prompts: tentacles, identity, Robin, smooth)
Notes: this is very much for [personal profile] minoanmiss, because the fic she wrote in DC fandom made (makes) me happy.

Post-OYL setting of a War Games AU where Steph really did die. (alternatively: a never-written fixit fic from when Steph hadn’t been retconned yet to be alive.) The title comes from The Jew of Malta: "Thou hast committed/ Fornication: but that was in another country,/ And besides, the wench is dead.". The more things change.


“Does—does this happen very often?” Tim’s breath is short, and when Dick twists his neck, he can see Tim’s eyes are wide behind his mask.

He opens his mouth to answer, but the tentacle grazing against his hole catches the words into a whimper. Obligingly, his hips jerk and his thighs spread to accommodate the smooth length. When it doesn’t penetrate him (yet), Dick releases his breath.

“Well, it’s been known to,” he says, conversational.

Wiggling against the tentacle makes Steph’s breath hitch. So she does feel it; that’s gratifying to know. Getting fucked is always more satisfying when the other participant is getting off on it. Though some people – Babs (Slade) – get off on—on just watching him get lost in it, even if they’re not feeling the same effects themselves. Dick’s not disinclined to pegging, but tentacles should be sensitive.

Tim makes a sound that can only be called a squeal when another tentacle slips into his tights, and bucks against Dick with another sound, choked-off, of pleasure. The tentacle’s wrapped itself around his cock and must be – must be doing pretty much the same to what the one around Dick’s cock is doing.

“K-known?” Tim still repeats, in a high-pitched voice.

Steph makes a frustrated sound. “Boyfriend Wonder, focus!”

Sitting with her back against a nearby gargoyle, her own costume is revealing more skin than it usually does, pushes down and aside but in a less haphazard way than Dick’s and Tim’s. Even with tentacles, she’s more used to how her outfit works.

Right now, she’s got the last of her tentacles rubbing at her nipples, and her teeth scrape on her lips. The Spoiler mask ended on the rooftop shortly after they got here, but not before Dick’s heartbeat sped and his skin warmed with the sight of tentacles, and not before she got Tim pinned to a gargoyle, shaking.

She does something with the tentacles that has Tim gasping.

“Well, yes, you know,” Dick’s babbling a little, but the tentacle is working him in a way designed to short out his higher brain functions, “it’s a Robin thing, it happens.”

Next to him, Tim stiffens. Not, as surprising as it may seem given the context, in the good way. “Di—Nightwing.” Tim’s sounding a little too panicky for the Bat voice to work. “It’s never happened to me. It’s never happened to you! …Did it?”

Dick would like to answer, he really and truly would, putting his little brother’s worries to rest are one of his Bat duties and he’s always taken his duties to heart, but that’s the moment the tentacle’s chosen to start pushing inside him – slide in, really, all smooth and slicked-up and nice, but it’s thick enough that the pressure makes it feel like a push; his little brother’s girlfriend is well-endowed everywhere, apparently – and Dick’s head falls back as he groans, eyes squeezed shut.

“What my esteemed associate is trying to say—” Steph sounds a bit out of breath, fair is fair, “—is that it’s a dead Robin thing. I wouldn’t recommend it, but the side benefits kind of rock, y’know?”

“Wha—Nightwing! You had sex with Jason Todd?”

Again, Tim sounds way more horrified than the context should permit. Even if he’s not getting the treatment Dick is – even if Steph hasn’t started – and Dick’s not complaining, but it seems like such a shame that he’s missing out on—

“No no, I didn’t, I just saw them—the tentacles, I mean, and you’re—ah, Steph, please, do that again,” he blurts out begging when the tentacle sparks a flare of pleasure inside him.

She does, and the world moves, or it may just been Tim shuddering against him, not that Dick can perceive much of a difference.

“Oh god, you’re—she’s—Tim, you should, you should absolutely ask her to, to fuck you. Beg. Ah, beg her, nicely, Spoi—Steph, please, can you—”

“I’m good,” Tim says dryly.

Through slits, Dick can see Steph peer at Tim, flushed. “You’d tell me if you were uncomfortable, right, Tim? You okay here?”

The tentacle fucking Dick doesn’t pause, but the others perhaps do. For a moment the only sounds are Dick’s breathy moans.

“I’m good,” Tim finally concedes. Embarrassed arousal creeps into his tone, colouring it softer – more vulnerable, somehow. “I’m—”

There’s a sound, and a shift; Dick opens his eyes to see Tim spreading his legs, facing Steph, and a stubborn flush crawling up his cheeks. “If you’d. Ah.”

The tentacle inside Dick gives a startled, stronger thrust. Dick reflexively clenches his jaw to keep the wail in, not wanting to disrupt the scene.

Tim looks so beautiful like this. Even at this late stage, his costume is more decent than either Dick’s or Steph’s, as if Steph was reluctant to strip Tim of that dignity. Tim makes the Robin costume look dignified. And yes, sure, it’s a new one, even darker and more constrained than Tim’s first iteration of the costume, but still.

Dick’s overwhelmed by a surge of love for Tim, and the nagging whim to make Tim a little less unreachable, to—put his hand down Tim’s tights and make him moan and buck. He used to think it was only an urge to ruffle Tim’s hair. Now, he realizes, no. It was an urge to hear Tim whine.

Steph is grinning toothily. Her tentacle abandons playing with her breasts, making them bounce, to dip between her legs.

“Yes?...” she asks, in a husky voice that Dick would love to go down on.

“If you’d like to fuck me, Steph,” Tim grinds out. He doesn’t stutter, but his cheeks bloom a beautiful, Robin-red scarlet.

She giggles, breathless. “Aw, you even used your big boy words! Sure, boyfriend. I can fuck you.”

Then she leans over to kiss Tim, and her boobs move, and – Dick is very lucky that he doesn’t need both hands to keep from falling over, that the tentacle is helping keeping him in place, because he can touch. Her nipples are a dark, full-rose pink, and her skin’s softer than any crime-fighter’s has a right to be, and she moans in Tim’s mouth when Dick strokes his thumb over the hard bud of her nipple.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” he says.

Tim makes a small protest noise when Steph breaks the kiss to fake a glower at Dick.

“If you’re getting bored, just say so.” And the tentacle—does this thing that no dildo or human – or alien, that he knows of – can do, shifts and coils, prodding against his prostate coming and going, and Dick shouts.

All the nerve endings in his body are sizzling, bursts of color behind his eyelids and he’s moaning continuously now, stringing pops of needy sensation as he’s being filled, arching into it.

Against his side, Tim shudders again and mutters, “oh, god,” under his breath.

“So what do you say, Tim?” Steph’s voice rings heavy, raucous with lust. “You want that too? I can—I can do that. I can make you beg like Nightwing said. I can—you’d be so hot, begging me to fuck you harder. I think I’d like that. Lemme in, Tim. Lemme—”

“God, Robin, please,” Tim chokes.

Steph’s breath catches at the same time as Dick’s. “Oh, fuck,” one of them mumbles, voice foreign with desire.

Between the rustling and the squirming Dick has a pretty good if hazy image of what’s going on, and he knows precisely when she gets inside Tim, from the jolt of the tentacles and the jolt of Tim’s body.

“Ah,” Tim says, in a stunned voice. And then, lower, “ngh.”

Blindly, Dick fumbles, until he finds Tim’s hand to grip, and he grins through squeezed eyes when Tim grips back. The weights of bodies shift, get heavier against him, and the next time Steph moans she’s closer, like she’s breathing almost directly between Dick and Tim’s ears.

Then Dick can time how Steph is moving the tentacles by the patterns of the noises he and Tim and Steph are making, or he would if he was in any state to do anything more than babble over Tim’s gasps and Steph’s curses. He tells them how beautiful he thinks Tim is and how much Dick wants him and how good Steph is making him – them – feel, and he tells them he loves them in the same sentence as he babbles about Tim’s bird-like shoulder blades and how he’s wanted to kiss Steph just for the hell of it.

“Steph, Steph, ah – little sister—”

Tim’s hips stutter and pause and he comes with a groan. “Dick,” he says, sounding stunned again because nothing stuns Tim quite as effectively as (sex) realizing he’s loved.

Steph gasps loudly, and the tentacle in Dick stills. A hand scratches at his nipple and gives him just what he needs to come, spilling with a shout.

Balance is lost, and they fall into a dirty, messy pile.

His eyes blink open, disoriented. Steph’s collapsed on them, and they’re half-laying, half-sprawling into a tangle at the foot of a benevolent-looking gargoyle. The tentacles have receded, replaced with Steph’s human arms.

“Wow,” he says. The sky above Gotham is murky black, not a star in sight, but it’s a nice screen to replay parts of it. Wow. He stretches, slowly, and—oh, there it is. That endorphin-fuelled soreness that comes from athletic sex and good patrols.

Tim sighs. It’s a contented sigh, so there is no reason for Dick to stop grinning idiotically.

Half on top of him, Steph’s hand disappears to run over Tim’s cheek. “Took me almost four years but I finally got in your pants, Boy Wonder.”

“You got into mine too,” Dick adds.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t trying so hard with you.”

“Think of me as a bonus,” Dick suggests.

By their side, Tim’s only reaction is a small laugh, which is almost more fuzzy-making than the sex. Dick smiles, and settles in to continue to banter lazily with Steph.
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