Despite the double layer of sunglasses shielding his eyes from the glaring surgical lights overhead, Miguel still feels as if Dick can see straight through them.
The so-called “Batcave" is empty, with Dick’s family’s butler having promptly left with the swish of a coat-tail after setting up the operating room for them ahead of time, and Lyla having already been banned courtesy of a certain someone’s protectiveness over his archaic computer. The alcove they’re in isn’t very deep. Like this, Miguel can still hear the hundreds of dripping stalactites, and every chirp and call of all the actual goddamn bats up in the main ceiling.
They’re here for one reason; a bit of light, scientific, preparatory work on a new toolkit they’re aiming to use in an upcoming mission that Miguel had generously offered to help Dick out with.
Apparently Dick already had some ideas.
The straps holding his wrists down to the table itch as he flexes his wrist, nervously tilting his head away from Dick’s stare. He hasn’t stopped looking, he doesn’t think he ever could, but at least this way he can prompt the man before him into breaking eye contact—at least if it’s really true that Dick can’t actually see through the dark lenses right now.
Dick turns away, and Miguel loses sight of him as walks beyond the thick frames of his sunglasses.
There’s some rustling noises, clinking as he checks over all his tools once more. It’s only a moment later when he finally draws the rolling cart to Miguel’s side, pulling clear, protective goggles over his face, a surgical mask, a scrub hat on top, and then, finally; a pair of blue nitrile gloves that he pulls on with a snap. It’s a little overkill, but the paralytic darts they’re aiming to produce need the purest possible formula for their tips.
All possible contaminants need to be kept out. Miguel had lectured Dick over and over after analysing the first test. They only have another week or so before they need boots on the ground, and unless they want to drag Dick’s family into the whole mess—Miguel is not sticking around for that—they need to get a move on.
Dick eye-smiles down at him. “Are you ready?”
He nods.
“Here’s hoping you’re more spider than snake, or all this prep would be a waste.” Dick laughs. “Then again, you did seem to enjoy that first attempt.” He smirks. “With my fingers in your mouth.”
Miguel fights off the blush crawling up his cheeks, and resolutely doesn’t respond. He slips his eyes shut as he feels Dick nudge his chin, prompting him to drop his mouth open with a soft pop. He exhales quietly as Dick begins to spray his teeth and gums with a watery solution, letting it soak for just a second before inserting the tube of a saliva ejector between his lips.
He almost flinches at the noise as the vacuuming starts up, but Dick holds his jaw steady with a firm grip. Miguel feels Dick release the tube to lay in position on its own, his free hand leaving to reach for the next tool on the tray.
It’s only a moment later when it returns, this time sliding what Miguel knows to be an electrode to the roof of his mouth, one to the left, and one to the right.
It’s almost like he’s already bitten into someone. Iron tang beneath his taste buds. It’s too sterile to actually replicate the exact aftertaste though, it reminds him more of the first few months post-enhancement, cutting gum and lip over and over as he navigated between languages, sleep, and eating.
His breath quickens, and he feels Dick’s hand tighten further around his chin, keeping him prone before Miguel enhanced senses pick up on the way Dick shifts, likely to press on the foot pedal below and—
“Ah!”
Miguel’s limbs and torso jerk under their restraints as the first pulse of current dashes through his mouth. His eyes flick open to see Dick watching him carefully, straining only just slightly as he retains the hold with his right hand.
“Maybe I’ll have to knock you out after all, it’s a shame your venom doesn’t work against yourself.” Dick strokes a rubbery thumb over the edge of Miguel’s lip. “Or maybe I should just gag you instead, strap your head down to the table. Would you like that? A spider gag would suit you nicely, don’t you think?”
He feels blood rushing downwards, and it’s only the flashing imagery in his mind that causes him to pause long enough to remember that he can’t respond—not unless he wants to swallow and choke on the three different tools in his mouth right now—so instead he rolls his wrists, flipping Dick the bird with a glare.
Dick catches the movement the second it happens, expression blank, but laughs when he sees the gesture. “I’m going to continue now, yeah?”
He contorts his hand into an ‘OK’ sign.
“Hahh,” Miguel exhales harshly, suddenly, eyebrows furrowing as Dick steps on the pedal again, sending another heavy pulse through his palate.
And again.
And again.
And again.
He feels like he should be drooling all over himself by now, but the ever-present suction takes it all away before it can even begin to start up a single pool. The human parts of him aren’t what they need, they’re sent straight into the biohazards container at the back of the room. Miguel whimpers as his jaw twitches with the urge to bite, and then promptly goes silent when Dick’s fingers slide from his jaw to hook into his mouth, pulling down on his lower row of teeth, right between the vestigial fangs.
“Keep it open. Do you want me to repeat myself?”
Miguel doesn’t shake his head, but instead blinks out a negative in code. He doesn’t want Dick to turn his blue eyes away from him—to check on his hands—for even a second.
“Mhm, I thought so,” Dick croons, “look at you, you’re almost there, aren’t you?”
His jaw hurts. He can’t taste anything but the nitrile over Dick’s hands and the tube resting next to his tongue, but his enhanced proprioception keeps him up to date and aware of the tiny—but growing—weight on the tips of his upper fangs. Miguel blinks slowly.
“That’s right, only a little more and those drops of venom will be too heavy to balance there all on their own. I won’t be able to hold these electrodes and fill the vials at the same time, isn’t that just a shame?”
Miguel frowns immediately. They need more venom than that for the mission. A few drops is barely enough to conduct a single experiment. He could’ve made a bigger amount off of just gnawing on some random anomaly elsewhere.
“Oh, Miguel,” Dick says, lightly brushing against his cheek, “don’t pout.”
Miguel glares.
“Don’t you trust me?”
Yes.
Slow blink. He watches as Dick’s eyes curl under his goggles, the rest of his smile still hidden on the mask.
“Good boy.”
And—mierda—before Miguel can react with anything more coherent than a blush, another volley of stinging electricity streaks through him, as Dick pumps the pedal below to the beat of Miguel’s spasming legs, before removing the pieces of metal from his mouth. The room swims, and Miguel can’t decipher what’s happening outside of his vision, but it doesn’t take long before Dick’s other hand is returning, holding something—a capillary tip, Miguel thinks—just below his fangs, where the droplets have been trailing, collecting the venom and quickly transferring it to tube Miguel knows is standing ready on the tray off to the side.
“Hm, looks like we only got about zero-point-three millilitres out of that, I was right.”
Miguel whines, hand spinning as he repeats any and every positive signal he can think of over and over.
“I’ve got just the thing.” Dick’s face darts back into view as he turns away from the cart, holding up two—helping-hand soldering stations…? Miguel blinks in confusion, and Dick places them each to one side of his head, before squeezing his hand. “Not the most clinical of things, sorry. But the only other clamps I could find were these big yellow ones for the Batmobile. Is that okay? You can move your head.”
It’s then Miguel realises that Dick is no longer gripping his jaw—hasn’t been, for the past few minutes at least. The saliva ejector is still humming away inside his cheek though, so he nods instead of speaking, tapping against the hand holding his own still.
The electrodes come back quickly, this time held by the little clamps next to the magnifiers on the stations. It probably looks more than a little awkward from Dick’s position, but like this Miguel can more-so smell them, than see them. The flux is less than a day old.
“Open up,” Dick says, humming to himself as he sets up again.
Miguel’s mouth is already open, but he obliges and drops it a little further, letting Dick shuffle and position everything until it’s all mostly hands free.
Mostly.
This time, Dick wedges the fingers of his right hand between Miguel’s plain, humanoid teeth, and holds a fresh capillary at the ready beneath his fangs. His gloves are new too, Miguel can taste it through the walls of his cheek, packaging and all, but it all fades away when a surprise pulse rips through him.
“Haah- ah.”
Above him, Dick’s eyes crinkle, the joy emanating from him making Miguel’s cheeks heat up faster than a dirty holo. He’s too distracted to notice Dick’s weight shift, and jolts at the next jab the electricity, sending a thud through the table as he falls flat again, held up short by the straps over his joints.
Having flesh between his teeth must be stimulating something in his hindbrain however, because despite the tiny barrier between them, it only takes a few more pulses before Miguel feels the drops of venom welling up to full capacity again, faster than before.
Dick notices, of course. “Good boy, you’re doing so well.” And quickly makes the transfer to the tubes.
At about the seventh pause for collection, Miguel checks out; aware of almost nothing but the slow stream of venom flowing in his enamel, and the terrible ache across his glands. He’s never really felt them so thoroughly before. He’s probably sunken his fangs into Dick more times than he ever has to all his opponents combined—and those were always short, little, baby bites, enough to get Dick’s heart racing, but never enough for Miguel to feel as wrung dry as this.
The sharp zing of electricity continues to fade into a faint tickle. Distant. He can still feel Dick’s fingers, brushing over him like a god as the years pass by. He wishes he could see Dick’s face. The lamp somehow seems brighter despite his lenses and—
*
“Okay! That’s three millilitres.” Dick’s smiling face halos in the light, casting his own into shadow. “You’re all done for tonight, baby. How are you feeling, hm?”
He gazes aimlessly at the second sun in his vision. The past however-long with only the barest scrap of Dick’s eyes to stare at leaving him raw and hungry. Jaw stiff, he doesn’t think he could close his teeth over that neck if tried. But he wants to.
“Miguel?”
The overhead light flips off. His face twitches, and he realises only now that his mouth is free from debris. “G-ood,” Miguel croaks out.
Dick’s perfection splits with a frown. “Oh, stay right there, I’ll get you some water.” He places the vial into the mini-freezer beneath the cart, and then pushes the whole thing away, heading to the industrial sink along the wall.
“S’not li…’m goin’ anywhere i-is it?” Miguel weakly yanks against the straps as he grumbles.
Dick is back after only a few heart-stopping moments. Having an enhanced perception of time really is shit sometimes. Miguel sighs as he sips at the distilled water, head tilted back by Dick’s own hand after he’d removed his sunglasses and set the operating table upright, contorting him into sitting. Once his dry throat is fully soothed, he realises the paper cup has been effectively blocking his view of Dick’s face the whole time, and frantically tries to swallow down the rest so he can get rid of it as soon as possible.
It spills over his chin when Dick pulls the cup away, tutting at him.
“Don’t rush, big guy, would you want me to rush through this?”
Miguel chokes on air and bubbles as Dick still-gloved hand comes down to firmly press against his still-clothed cock. His hips try their best to buck—but the straps are still there, pinning them down. He’d completely forgotten, and now the aching need is back, pushing to the forefront of his mind as Dick grinds his palm against him. Harder, and harder.
“Are you listening?” Dick asks. Miguel isn’t.
The hand dips under fabric and he breathes out harshly, gaze stuck between his legs. Dick’s touch only proves to show how damp and wet his briefs have become, slicking up the nitrile into a smooth fleshlight as Dick curls his hand into a near fist, sliding down the shaft. Miguel is panting almost the second Dick starts to jerk him off, tears welling in his eyes at the brutal pace he sets. Dick flicks back the bunched up clothes until Miguel can peek down at the ruddy red of his cock, the head almost disappearing after every stroke with how tight Dick’s fingers are.
“Toofast- please.” Miguel hears himself sob out. “I want- I want—”
“I asked you a question.” Dick raises an eyebrow after Miguel’s head snaps back up to look at him. “Do I need to repeat myself?”
“Please,” he says, because he can’t remember and he sure as hell isn’t calling Lyla for the replay, not to mention it’d be an awful way for Dick’s old man to find out none of his firewalls actually worked.
Dick smiles. “I asked if you wanted me to rush through this, baby, is it what you wanted?” His other hand joins the fray, reaching below to fondle at Miguel’s straining balls. Dick’s smile grows larger as Miguel tries to buck again, half-involuntary half-delirious at the onslaught of pleasure.
“Yes—no.” Miguel convulses in his binds, blearily wracking his brain as Dick continues to distractedly play with his sac. “I want it with- without rushing.”
The paper cup appears again under his lip, and Dick nudges him until his head tilts up. “Finish this, then. Slowly. And I’ll slow down.”
He obeys, and Dick follows through on his word, slowing to a more manageable pace as Miguel carefully takes sips of what’s left in the cup. He’s patient, so patient, as he waits for Dick to decide when to put it back down, to wipe his chin down and swap his gloves for bare skin on skin. He mourns the loss silently, but the following kisses chase his thoughts away. When Dick finally returns to stroking his cock, the pace he sets is bliss, ushering him closer and closer to the peak with a steady grip and nonsensical whispers.
Distantly, Miguel thinks of how strange he must look, delirious and immobile, straining in his seat as he’s jacked off by this merciful creature. It is only a distant thought though, because through his tearful eyes all he really can see now is the frantic, heated look on Dick’s face, a complete juxtaposition to the ease at which plays with Miguel’s body.
“You’re doing so good for me.” Dick’s long dark lashes flutter as he reaches down to palm himself, syncing his pace to the other hand around Miguel’s cock.
It’s too much to witness alone.
Miguel comes with a shudder, eyes screwing shut and heart bared as he splatters into Dick’s cupping hand. The beating of two hearts fill his ears as his senses involuntarily dial back, he can’t smell anything but the salt on Dick’s skin, the salt in his hand full of Miguel’s cum that he’s bringing up to—
His eyes blink back open just in time to see Dick lick everything into his mouth, staring him dead in the face over chipped nails. Miguel exhales harshly and comes again.
*
Well, not really, it is just leftovers after all, a few extra drops to dirty his cock, but it’s enough that he doesn’t register Dick shucking off his own pants until he’s standing there naked as the day he was born in the armpit of a freezing cave. Dick hits something out of view, and the table begins to slowly flatten itself out again.
Miguel hazily watches as he slides up and over his hips, thighs spread wide as he reaches down to touch himself, jerking his drooling dick over Miguel’s body.
He feels himself twitch valiantly as the tiny moans and pants wash over him, but despite his superior refractory speed, he’s too strung out to do anything but watch contently as Dick hunches over, further and further, until he’s coming all over them both, making a mess of everything unfortunate enough to be in between.
“Fuck,” Dick whines, letting go to paw and squeeze at Miguel’s sides.
He grunts as Dick falls onto him—still heavy as a hero despite the whole bird gimmick—but lets him do his thing. He feels Dick fumbling and then calloused hands are smoothing down his arms, calming, as Dick crawls up to press more solidly against him like a weighted blanket, pecking him sweetly on the lips. Miguel’s nose twitches as the sweaty tufts of black hair skim past his lips and cheek.
When their breathing finally begins to slow—not at all assisted by the awkward positioning—Dick uncurls slightly from atop his chest, drawing his face away from the crook of Miguel’s neck and peering down at him curiously. “How about now?”
He thinks for a moment. “Hungry,” Miguel mutters, snapping all the straps off in one go as he lurches to a stand, picking Dick up as he goes, skin unsticking loudly from the polyurethane film under them.
“Miguel!”
“What?” Miguel double checks to make sure the mini freezer is running, and hip checks the cart away from the table.
“You’re unbelievable, I didn’t even contaminate it this time.”
“So? I wanna eat.”
He snorts at the responding grumble, and hunches so Dick doesn’t fall as he stretches out of his arms to snag the bathrobes waiting for them by the exit.
They dip out of the alcove, making the trek to the top of the staircase in the nick of time, as the sound of vehicles rumble throughout the cave behind them from the tunnels beyond.
The butler’s early morning pancakes are hot off the pan.